


Roll Your Dice, Show Your Cards

by pissedoffpineapples



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-20
Updated: 2016-02-10
Packaged: 2018-04-10 05:16:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 54,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4378691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pissedoffpineapples/pseuds/pissedoffpineapples
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>SHIELD Academy students Skye and Jemma find themselves getting dangerously tangled in the lives of women they barely know, learning before long that despite how beautiful and inviting the storm appears, it is much safer to watch from the window than to dance in the very center of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Despite all that had happened, all that had changed, and all she had done, Skye found she was legitimately surprised that it took her so long to realize. 

Things weren't the way they had always been – that's the first thought that struck her as she sat in her desk, not quite enraptured by the lecture on Advanced Weaponry that was taking place around her. Taking place in the real world – that is, the world outside Skye's head; even if it didn't seem like much of a place to be lately. 

Yes, this thought stirred something beneath her skin. Like a ripple on a pond it traveled, striking cords within her system as it made its way like a wavelength from her brain to her toes. Things were different, and suddenly, she knew why. 

Women, she had always thought, had the natural born tools to shape the way the world works. To build it in their influence and with their confidence. To nurture it and bring it to life with soft slender fingers, and battle-worn knuckles. Values like these were a given in the mind of the agent in training, except now the the word had changed from women to, simply put, _woman._

One woman had shaped her world, stepping up to the plate and molding her a new design with raw fingers. It had been a couple of weeks since things had begun to be stirred up in this way, and in the months that had passed since it begun, Skye found that she was no longer an unfinished product. 

This remarkable woman's name was Melinda May. This however, she had only learned a little later. Skye simply saw her one day, when she was still in Sci-Tech, at one of the large outdoor shooting ranges on the campus of the academy. Herself and one of her dorm mates, Jemma Simmons, were merely passing through – the two of them, as Sci-Tech students, would have shied away from a shooting range without skipping a beat – but once her eyes had been swept up in the storm that was Melinda, Skye found she couldn't escape the compulsion to simply stare. She could recall this brief first encounter with striking clarity.

The woman was cool as a cucumber up there. She walked down a line of twelve students, all of which were intense and focused on the presence of the guns in their hands. The weight of lethal force. The anvil of death riding in each bullet. It was a delicate process – at least it looked that way, as Skye quietly observed while pretending to tie a rebellious shoelace. 

It looked like a delicate process, and yet this woman – who looked quite a bit smaller than most of the students she instructed – didn't falter. Her voice carried loud and clear to each student, something about the ethics of properly using a gun. Skye hadn't much been paying attention to the words she was saying, and was rather entranced by the woman's prowess as she strutted around like a fierce, hardened master. Lifting one student's gun to aim more directly at the target, and less directly at their foot. Showing another the difference between the magazine release and the safety release and emphasizing the importance in knowing that difference. Explaining to another that you pull the trigger, never squeeze. Stepping beside one student and showing them how to properly hold the gun with two hands to minimize the impact of the recoil. 

It was fascinating to Skye – and not only because she had for two semesters already been living the life of Sci-Tech, which was relatively sheltered from gunfire and the complications that came along with it. This wise Chinese woman was most fascinating of all, however, as she hustled about, sharing her knowledge and prepping her line of amateurs to fire. 

Her movements were graceful, her words stern and informative. There was a warmth behind these words, however, even if her tone of voice was forged of iron ore and ice. They were the words of someone who taught not because it was her job, but because she felt it to be her duty. Skye had thought in that moment that the woman – whoever she was – would be a ridiculously hard taskmaster, but perhaps one of the most rewarding. 

Skye stood up from tending to her shoelace at the urging of a nervous Jemma proclaiming they were going to start shooting soon. The brunette watched the professor at the range a little longer, and was somewhat surprised to feel the racing of her own heart when the mystery woman turned around and seemed, for a fleeting moment, to see her. 

The chiseled face and tired eyes that Skye was met with seemed to tangle for just a brief moment with her own. The gesture that could hardly be considered one, as it only lasted about thirty seconds, filled Skye to the brim with some uncertain feeling. Foreboding. Her heart created its own private stampede within her chest, hammering against her ribs so hard she thought they could break. And then, without warning, she had turned again, gone back to her instruction – and Skye was hurried off nervously by Jemma, who seemed desperate to get on their way now that the line of Operations students had raised their pistols with an unhinged, untamed sense of equal parts confidence and nervousness.

Skye was back on when she heard the guns fire off, and it reminded her of a bullet being shot off to jump start a marathon. Bullets loudly fired off into the afternoon light, and even if she hadn't been fully aware of it then, the marathon had begun. The bullets had been released and it signified the start of something. She could see that now.

Skye thought off and on about the woman she had observed that afternoon in Robotics class, finding her mind being led astray too often to give her any room to breathe, let alone pay attention. It had made her head feel muddled and stuffy, and so she abandoned the class early and set out across the campus for some fresh air. She had a good grade in the course anyway. Skipping out ten minutes early wouldn't kill her, despite how Jemma would try to convince her otherwise. 

She trekked across the long campus grounds, seeing a wandering soul like herself occasionally, but nobody she recognized or cared to speak to – at least, until, she saw a warm body seated on a bench just ahead of her and to the left. 

It was the woman from the shooting range. Skye was surprised enough to see her on this side of the campus instead of the Operations side, and even more flabbergasted that she had stumbled upon her by complete fluke. Something about the woman now was odd, however – something struck her as entirely different. 

She was sitting, it seemed, cross legged on the rugged surface of the old wooden bench. It was some kind of meditation – the woman's face was serene, the focused eyes from before closed to the world around her. Her hands rested limply on her lap and she seemed to be in the act of sleeping while sitting up, the meditation was that still and tamed. 

Skye crept up closer to the woman as if she were approaching an animal at the zoo who had finally chosen to exit its shelter and step into view. There was something vulnerable about this stance, Skye found, but at the same time she appeared more solid than a concrete wall. It seemed more dangerous to approach her, than it would be for her to be approached. 

Skye took a quiet seat on the bench just across the way from the dreamily silent woman, and reached into her messenger bag to get a day planner. _Just in case_ , she thought with a strange aura of guilt, _she sees me._ The illusion that the student had stopped for some particular, pressing reason had to be created to avoid suspicion. _Suspicion._ That's exactly how she worded it in her own mind, and yet, she wasn't entirely sure at that time what it was she was so afraid of being caught doing. 

Pretending to glance at the scribbling in the planner, the young brunette stole greedy glances at the still woman across from her. She wondered sheepishly if this woman was aware that she had stopped or that she was here, or that she kept looking at her. She seemed oblivious to the world now, skipping across the darkness of the universe of her mind in some unique time travel. 

Skye found that she somehow wanted this stranger to look up, to see her, to snap out of it – but any inkling of that on the horizon seemed pretty bleak. The woman was a statue – the kind you see in national parks to memorialize a figure of extreme charisma, or the pretty, mermaid like ones seated in and around glorious fountains. 

Noise was beginning to approach. Skye's eyes danced away from her figure of extreme interest, and glanced around the campus – students were flooding unreserved out of the mouths of various buildings, the gate of the school's out reservoir having been opened. The busiest time slots of the day's lessons at the academy were over now – which meant only one thing. Skye had lingered there far too long. 

Getting up from the bench in a fumble, knowing she would be meeting Jemma now, Skye hoped for one last moment that the woman would open just one of those snake eyes and take note of her presence. Her willfulness didn't seem to budge reality, however, and she skirted off without so much as a movement from that strange mystery woman. She didn't even seem to falter from her task long enough to take a noticeable breath. The tornado of sound that whipped across the campus as Skye trudged off neither seemed to bother her, lost somewhere, Skye was certain, on another planet. One that was perhaps much better than this one. 

Skye began to rush for she knew she had spent a little too long observing that woman out of her own interest. But interest in what, exactly? Either way, it didn't matter. She had to meet Jemma, and the last thing she wanted was for her good friend to get overly suspicious. There was that word again. Skye sighed as she made her way through a particularly tight crowd of laughing biology students. 

What was she so worried about? She hadn't done anything wrong, and truthfully, it would not have been an odd occurrence for her to be late. But the similar feelings of guilt lingered. Perhaps it was her feelings for Jemma – feelings she had always openly embraced, even if she was uncertain of whether or not the quirky biochemist reciprocated. Jemma was a good girl. The kind of girl Skye wanted to avoid hurting. 

Somehow, she thought she was flattering herself a little to consider the fact that her merely looking at another woman would tear Jemma up inside. In truth she had no knowledge at all about the deep recesses of Jemma's heart, and whether her straying eyes would be regarded as a pebble or a boulder. All she knew was how she felt. 

Still, she would prefer to be safe than sorry – so as she approached the biochemist who waved cheerfully at her from the short distance between them, Skye vowed to herself that she wouldn't bring up her sudden and odd infatuation to an Operations faculty member. 

“Sorry I'm late,” Skye said when she finally reached the other girl. Immediately regretting what she said, however, when she noticed Jemma's expression of skewed confusion, Skye continued. “I had to check something in my planner.” Not one hundred percent a lie. There was always some refuge in that. 

Jemma beamed. “See? I told you getting one would be useful.” 

Skye couldn't help but smile back at her friend – her smile, after all, was one of the world's most exquisite. She also couldn't bear to admit that all she'd used the planner for since Jemma had given it to her at the start of the semester was to jot down names of radio songs she found a liking for, equations for math she could never quite remember, or the names of acquaintances she feared forgetting. “I just wasn't sure when our biochem test was, so – ”

“Biochem?” Jemma's tone of voice was incredulous as the girls strolled side by side towards the dormitories. “I'm in that class with you Skye, and we only had an exam last week! Why on earth would we have another one so soon?” 

No refuge, however, when a lie sticks out its dirty foot and trips you. Quick, however, on the upkeep, Skye gave a natural little laugh and shook off the slight hiccup. “Honestly, I don't know where I'd be without you Jemma. I probably wouldn't even be able to tie my shoes!” 

Jemma laughed a little at this, sharing the humorous sentiment of what Skye was shaking off. “Speaking of, you took an awfully long time to do that earlier when we were passing by the shooting range!” Skye froze. “I thought we were going to be nearby when those maniac Operations people fired off their bloody pistols.” 

They had been nearby due to Skye's indulgent staring, but obviously not nearby enough to be bad according to the standards of Jemma Simmons. Skye laughed this off as well, but for some reason felt an off putting sinking feeling descending through her stomach. “Yeah, I don't know what's wrong with me today. I'm in a bit of a funk.” 

Jemma rubbed her friend's shoulder sympathetically as they finally began to near the campus dorms. “It's understandable. It is midterm week, after all. Cut yourself some slack, Skye.” 

Skye nodded, as if she were taking what Simmons said to heart. Truthfully, her thoughts had wandered from her yet again. Wandered a ways back across campus, to a wooden bench, a solid figure, and a serene, pleasantly lost expression. “I know, I know. But sometimes it's hard to not be hard on yourself when Hermione Granger is your best friend,” Skye joked, and what had once been a gentle shoulder rub turned into a playful push. Then a chuckle, followed by a familiar “bugger off”.

Skye couldn't help but grin as Jemma changed subjects now to something that had gone on in her molecular biology class, but Skye's thoughts were still wound around that one isolated incident in the afternoon. That woman was drawing her in like a snake charmer. What was it about her that was so incredibly endearing?

Even in the present, Skye knew that it was the strangely appealing wiles of the older woman that had dragged her so deep under. Things changed rapidly after that day, and yet despite how her feelings had flexed and pulsed, adjusting themselves to different tempos since that first time they had made the most brief of eye contact, she still didn't have the answer to that most pressing question. What made Melinda May so endearing?


	2. Chapter 2

Jemma had noted that things with her best friend had been off, but she couldn't pin point exactly when it had begun, or why. It seemed as if she had just woken up one morning different, acting strange. Her motivation had fled her. She woke up late in the mornings, sometimes skipped class, and neglected her study for favor of staring off into space – things that Jemma couldn't help but notice as the two of them did live together. 

School and everything that came along with it came quite naturally to Jemma, and so she found she couldn't really imagine having to make a conscious effort to be on time, or to study with a clear mind. But even in the afternoons that Skye did choose to attend her classes, she was late meeting Jemma for lunch, late meeting her at the end of the day, and always crossing over from the Operations division of campus. The whole thing gave Jemma and uncomfortable feeling of acidity in her gut, her body trying to digest something it perhaps wasn't ready to absorb.

So in a way, she mused now, she had seen it coming before Skye had chosen to even utter the words out of her mouth. Jemma's initial thought was that Skye had met a girl. An Operations girl. That was the only thing that made sense, and yet, it didn't – it didn't because of facts that had already come to light. 

After their first semester together, they had been sitting on the highest rooftop of SHIELD academy watching the Fourth of July fireworks, when Skye had said it. It wasn't quite the three little words of doom that mostly made Jemma want to shudder, but it was a toned down version of them. _I like you_ , she had said, with such clarity that it didn't seem she was at all nervous. 

Sure, she had already consumed one too many cocktails, and Jemma herself had indulged a little too fully on beer, but something about the moment stood out stark and clear in her memory. When Jemma had asked her for more specific clarification, watching the dramatic bursts of pink and blue explosions in the sky, her friend had voiced exactly what it was the biochemist feared. 

The clarification was what she had suspected when the words had first been uttered. Skye liked her more than a friend. In all her drunkenness, Jemma found she couldn't quite comprehend what she had heard until she woke up the next morning with a splitting headache and clarity of mind despite it. 

She had asked Skye at the appropriate moment if she had meant what she had said, and Skye reciprocated with an air of _obviously_. Her boldness knew no bounds, and yet Jemma found she was still lost for words. And so she told her just that: “I don't know what to say.” 

Skye had been good about it. She had told Jemma with the sweetest of understanding smiles that she didn't have to say anything about it then and there, that she had just wanted her to know. Jemma was an individual who had been for quite some time incredibly bi-curious, and so the revelation didn't disgust her or turn her off, but rather, frightened her just a little bit. 

The need to remove herself from such distractions that would take away from her schoolwork clashed with her utter desire to see where things could go with Skye, and this cataclysm left her on very neutral ground. She had nothing to say and wasn't sure if she ever would.

The girls didn't speak of it much afterwards, but assuming that Skye's feelings for her hadn't yet faltered, it wouldn't make sense for her to have met another girl – would it? 

Despite her knowledge that she had sort of left Skye hanging after her confession, and that her hacktivist friend had every right to move on and find someone new, the idea still filled her with a mixture of confusion and hurt that she couldn't describe. Perhaps she had waited truly too long to reciprocate. Waited too long to have a long sit down with herself and figure what exactly it was she wanted and didn't want from Skye.

So when Skye approached her with a certain expression on her face – one of restraint, distance, and discomfort – Jemma could hardly stand it anymore. She had demanded to know what was wrong, what had changed, and then everything had come to the light. 

Skye was leaving Sci-Tech, and transferring to Operations. Truly, the revelation hadn't come as much of a surprise for the always over prepared biochemist – but hearing it out loud certainly made it final. She could feel her heart dully thudding, taking on a heaviness that it only exhibits during moments of sheer, sinking disappointment. 

Not being able to stand listening to that dangerously low thud, that reminded her of the blackest depths of the ocean, Jemma asked her what had changed her mind. She was hesitant to know – somehow afraid to find out that Skye wanted to get away from her, or something – but the reality of it, at least so far as Skye explained it, was much more comforting. 

Skye said she had had her defining moment. This was a term that was tossed around by nearly all the faculty at the SHIELD academy as being something strikingly important to agents in training. It was the moment in which you feel fully immersed in SHIELD – the moment that defines you as an agent, and inspires you more than anything else to press onward and join the organization. 

Jemma had felt a little flabbergasted – her defining moment, just from spending time on that side of the campus, and watching the shooting range? Her defining moment, when Jemma herself, who was well on her way to her second PhD, hadn't experienced anything of the sort? 

Her initial thoughts were that something so insignificant couldn't possibly define an agent, but in the moments following Skye's confession, her incredibly sharp brain mulled it over a mile a minute. It didn't always have to be something life and death or game changing. Maybe she just simply realized she was cut out for more than academics. There was nothing wrong with that. In fact, wasn't it better than finding out her fears had been realized, and that Skye had found someone else?

Skye had been eyeing her friend warily while the biochemist digested everything that had been said, and Jemma could see the relief on her friend's features the moment she turned back with a smile and a congratulations from her smooth, parting lips. 

This did mean, however, that Skye would be leaving their dorm, and that Jemma would have to find someone new to room with. This news felt bitter inside Simmons' stomach, heavy like a gut full of rocks, and yet she smiled on. Simply because that was what Skye needed to achieve her goals – not to be held back by anything, or anyone. 

Jemma had braced herself for the worst, and yet it hadn't come. Skye busied herself with the necessary transfer paperwork, signed up for her classes after doing extensive research on the instructors (research that Jemma wasn't entirely certain was one hundred percent legal) and then it was time to move. 

Attached to each other as they were, the girls decided to do something entirely different in the end – they would move outside the campus. There were plenty of low rent, SHIELD owned apartments surrounding the campus for those young agents who preferred to live off campus, and so the girls opted for one of those so that they could attend their respective campuses while still enjoying the perks of living together. 

Fitz, Jemma's best friend, had helped them move into their new apartment, and before long things were as normal as before. They had their own rooms but fell asleep together most nights in one room or the other; they did their homework in the kitchen or living room together in silence; and Jemma did most of the cooking still because Skye was a hopeless case, and Jemma, while not a master chef, had at least a menial skill. In any case, it was better than take out.

They went about their daily lives, and none of the fears that Jemma sometimes cursed on and obsessed over under the blanket of darkness in her bedroom came to be. She and Skye didn't drift apart, Skye didn't make some drastic change in personality or mannerisms just because she was Operations now – she was still the same sweet girl, with one of the biggest hearts Jemma had ever seen and a strong sense of sarcasm and wittiness to clash along with it. 

In fact, life was rather perfect – things were just as they had always been, except they merely now had more privacy with which to live their lives in. 

In fact, Simmons had begun to think that things couldn't possibly get better. The two of them were excelling in their programs, Skye seemed happy – generally, at least. Sometimes, however, it seemed Skye would lose face a little when she thought Jemma wasn't paying attention to her. A distant glance into the horizon here, a not so hidden frown, or sometimes she would come home from class seeming distant, frustrated and raw. 

Simmons thought sometimes about asking her about these moments of lost clarity, but something told her that she shouldn't – for everything Skye hadn't said since she had mysteriously had her defining moment and changed programs would all catapult itself into the open before long. 

And in no time, it was all under the microscope. Jemma was sitting at the kitchen table muddling her way through equations for advanced biochemistry, when it happened. The door slammed viciously loud, and the timid girl knew immediately that it was Skye, and that something had gone horribly wrong. 

Jemma's ears followed the steady, angry thudding of feet coming through the living room of their flat, and she stared at the kitchen doorway. In the start that the door had given her, she found she had forgotten entirely about her homework – which wasn't an easy thing for Simmons to do under any circumstances. 

Soon Skye appeared in the doorway, and dropped her laptop bag carelessly onto the tiles. Simmons simply stared at her in confusion. She waited for the expression on Skye's face to signal her mouth to form some kind of explanation. Jemma was getting several different ques from all different parts of Skye's face – her eyes read a disastrous rage that not a hurricane of any strength could match. Her mouth was a hard line, disappointment seeming to spew from it before she even chose to speak. Despite these thorny emotions that seemed to jut out from Skye's subconscious, Simmons could also note the tiniest of shakes in the other girls hanging hands, something that spoke a distinctively quiet factor of deep hurt. 

Then, she spoke: 

“I just don't get her. How can she be such a heartless – such a – such a robot?”

Her words betrayed a fluster that was no doubt an incomprehensible blizzard within Skye, and Jemma knew immediately and with a sinking feeling that it was going to be a long night.


	3. Chapter 3

Sure, Skye had admitted to herself that she had changed her program simply because of this woman – who she had learned by rifling through the academy's classified instructor profiles was named Melinda Qiaolian May – but she would never admit it out loud. No matter how much she was pressed. 

Pressed, of course, by Jemma – while the girl had taken Skye's change of career paths much better than Skye had expected the sometimes over emotional scientist would, something about her still read as utter suspicion.

Now, Skye had never mentioned May or brought up the petty infatuation that had brought them so far away from their previous life at the Sci-Tech dorm, but Jemma seemed uncertain at times of Skye's motives. She knew this. She herself was uncertain of her motives, but that was how she had lived much of her life even before her zeal for SHIELD and the academy. Things she did had always been wishy-washy, so to speak. She took chances and risks like it was nobody's business, and either excelled from the unique vantage point it gave her, or lived with the consequences of the failure. She took it all in strides, and never complained. 

Nothing about that was different, and yet, as each day passed, she was more and more uncertain about her choice to switch just because of a little crush on a woman that she had never known or spoken to prior to transferring. Jemma was very uncertain, and this she knew – but whether or not she would actually ever tell her, she wasn't sure. 

When it came to Jemma, Skye's feelings tended to get a little loopy. As if before her, they were in neat, straight lines, like lining up for a roller coaster, and then when the quirky scientist was thrown into the mix it was the coaster itself. So many twists and turns, massive drops that made her want to throw up her entire stomach, and then climbing massive hills that made her feel on top of the world. While she had already admitted how she felt in a drunken stupor, she was both unsure of how deep those feelings went and if Jemma would ever even feel the same. Even if she did, would she admit it? When it came to the topics of sex and love, Jemma was endlessly peculiar. 

As soon as she got into Operations, Skye enrolled in all the classes with this Melinda May that she could – from yoga and meditation, to beginner's shooting, to close combat. Advanced weaponry she took with a different instructor. 

Every day Skye took these courses she was further entranced by the woman – her graceful movements, her powerhouse voice, her stability and her objectiveness. She was quiet in yoga, and while the student body that vastly consisted of stuck looking students trying to increase their flexibility, Skye found most of the positions were relatively easy, already being a somewhat flexible person. So while May wandered around the room, straightening this one's back, or helping that one bend their leg in the proper direction, Skye just watched. Part of her wished she was more of an amateur so she could feel that warm hand on her back. 

Being at the shooting range always brought a distinctive sense of deja-vu to wash over the Operations rookie, and it was also the first place where she was acknowledged by this woman she so deeply and anxiously admired. 

May had walked over to her as she stood, gun out straight, aiming at the target meters away from her. A steady hand came easy to her, but aiming at the target seemed harder than she had before assumed it would be. One too many crime shows on TV, she presumed – she was learning rather quickly of their inaccuracies. 

Suddenly the smooth skin of the other woman's hand was upon her right wrist, and Skye could suddenly feel her heart beating fiercely in the hot palm of her other hand, threatening to falter her aim to an even greater degree. 

May's voice was methodical as always, ready to instruct and to guide: “you might want to try holding the gun with two hands,” she had begun, lifting Skye's right arm like it was an object and bringing it up to her other one. Skye did as she was told without objection or even verbal response, focused much too hard on trying to quiet down her rioting heart. 

“This will minimize the impact on you when the gun fires. In the field, an agent has to be able to act quickly – and rarely do we ever shoot one handed.” 

Skye gave a brisk nod, taking the short lived lesson into account. But this process of translating what her experienced instructor was saying into memory was interrupted by the feeling of May's breath on the side of her neck. 

Her voice was dreadfully – dangerously – close to Skye's ear as she reached out her hands again and gripped them onto Skye's wrists, two pairs essentially gripping the one gun. Layers of inexperience coated by the burden of a veteran, Skye knew, and she felt almost privileged to have a chance to touch such hands off her own skin. Even in such a proper, organized, classroom setting. May's hands remained just below Skye's hands, nudging her aim up just a little higher. 

“Try holding the gun up a little higher,” her voice was saying, though Skye could scarcely hear it now over the sound of her own breathing, obnoxiously invasive inside her ears. “You don't want to hit the ground, after all. You want the target.” Then she moved her hand and Skye felt a little clunk. “It would also help to turn off the safety.” 

Skye could feel heat rising to her face as she nodded yet again, as May finally released her and allowed her to stand on her own. Skye didn't move, feeling like some kind of statue, paralyzed by the most light and gentle of the other woman's touch. The hardened instructor stepped back, and Skye could feel her eyes on her back and they somehow forced her to stand more still than she thought possible. 

“Now, shoot. Remember to pull the trigger, don't squeeze it.” 

Skye focused her eyes deeply into the target ahead of her, shaped like a mysteriously dark stranger with a body that began at the torso. Nervousness not a factor that could tremble her fingers under the holding stare of Melinda May, Skye pulled the trigger in one fell swoop. 

The sound and the recoil were a little startling at first, as she had never actually fired a pistol before. She had heard the noise and watched others do it for weeks before she chose to finally take the plunge and transfer – but she found that actually firing one was drastically different. 

The sound was loud, so much so that it made her want to duck and hide from certain death. The recoil jolted her hands back only slightly – after all, she had been gripping the gun for dear life. She was very glad just after shooting that May had gotten her to use two hands, for if she hadn't she imagined the recoil would have been so tough to handle it would have come right back to smack her mercilessly in the jaw. Inexperience was a plague of a disease, but not an incurable one, she surmised. 

Recovering from the initial shot, Skye zoned her eyes in on the target of the anonymous criminal and noticed that she had actually hit it. Glee erupted into her system and suddenly she couldn't wipe the smile off her face. Surely, the little, seemingly insignificant hole she had made was probably too far down to be considered a good, clean shot – but at least she hadn't missed. 

May, too, seemed to notice – she gave Skye a curt little nod when Skye found herself turning around to read her superior's expression. A nod of approval, but she still didn't smile – it wasn't something Skye had witnessed her do even once since the first moment she saw her – but that was no matter. A nod of approval was at least a subtle nudge that, in Skye's mind at least, she didn't suck completely. 

May briefly put an encouraging hand on her new student's shoulder, administering a soft squeeze that Skye could just barely feel, before moving to another of her peers down the line. There, Skye could see May administering similar points of advice. Where to point, how hard to grip, position of footing, and other such important aspects of handling a gun. 

Skye had close combat with her as well, and that was her hardest course by far – Melinda May was a merciless master of martial arts, and Skye was well as the other students in the class knew it. As the days passed on, more and more students dropped it until there was only a handful of the most resilient remaining – and Skye among them. This gave her a little elation of pride, like helium in her veins. 

Everyday, however, Skye seemed to get no closer to reaching her goal. After yoga, she always considered going up to the stern woman and complimenting her on how well she was able to teach it. But just as the students around her were getting up in a flurry to rush off to their next class, Skye always lost her confidence at an alarming rate. Who was she to compliment this woman of such formidable skill? Surely a woman like that, Skye thought as she fled out into the hall with her proverbial tail between her legs, knows damn well that she's good.

It was the same at the range. She would shoot at her target, getting progressively better each week, and she always wanted to work up the nerve to just say something to her. Anything. As May collected the firearms when their time was up, Skye wanted to pipe up and ask some sort of question. To be acknowledged. But whenever she reached out a shaking hand to pass back the gun, her lips seemed to forget how to form words, and instead, sealed themselves with cement to save her from embarrassment. 

She thought once or twice post close combat, as she sat on a bench sweating and aching, that she would maybe ask May if she could show her some more moves outside the classroom. Skye didn't know if such a thing was permitted at the Academy, though she didn't care much for rules. 

She didn't care much for rules, and she longed even more to break them in the wake of this woman as she watched her wipe the towel over her forehead, and then the back of her neck. As she drank greedily yet somehow still gracefully from a bottle of water that crinkled and strained under her grip. As Skye's eyes zoned in on the toned muscles of her arms and the obvious dampness of sweat on the back of her grey tank top. The woman was impeccable. Skye always thought about asking, even if there was a high probability that she would get shut down – but she always watched too long, nursing her water, until May had packed up and left the gym with her towel and bag slung over her shoulder. Her movements were insanely quick, and she was there one moment and gone the next. Out the door like the devil was upon her. 

Skye was beginning to think she would never get the chance to see her, or speak to her one on one. Within the classroom was fine, but the more used to her teaching methods and the instructions Skye got, the less she needed the other woman's help and advice. 

The young brunette spent some time of each day trying to formulate how she could get this far-fetched dream to become a reality, but nothing she settled upon ever seemed right in the moment. She always ended up losing her cool, and her confidence – something she wasn't entirely used to having to swallow down. 

Yes, things were truly different, she mused, leaving her advanced weaponry class, mind fully invested in the present. Her mood was sour, as she mulled over the utter impossibility that getting on an even remotely friendly basis with May seemed. She had potentially fucked up everything – her career choice, her relationship and feelings for Simmons, and for what? A shot? A moment that didn't even seem plausible? She didn't, however, feel that very moment creep up upon her. In fact, she didn't even know that it was there until the invitation displayed itself in front of her like an elaborate cabaret. _There she was._

Skye had walked into a popular cafe that was near the academy campus. It was a place many academy residents used, both instructor and student. There were rumors that even the barristers working behind the counter were undercover trained agents, ready to protect the academy at a moments notice if there was a siege. But Skye didn't know if that was true or not. 

Either way, it was a popular spot, for both those who wanted to disappear into anonymity and those who wanted to meet up with loud mouthed groups of caffeine high friends and peers. Skye went pretty often – usually only when, on days like today, she was in too poor a mood to return to Jemma at their apartment with this foul aura unnoticed – it was usually a decent place to get homework done if you had headphones to block out the noise. 

But that night, it was particularly packed. There was a large group of Sci-Tech students in the left corner who had pushed and pulled several chairs and tables together to make room for all of them. That would account, Skye thought with a little bitterness, the lack of places to sit. 

Skye's eyes scanned the area, looking for a vacant seat anywhere – and preferably, an outlet for her computer so she could start writing a paper for advanced weaponry. Considering it was due in just a week, she figured then would be as good a time as any to begin. 

Finally, her eyes snagged onto a table and held it in her view for all they were worth. It was far down in the right corner – so thankfully, as far away from the noisy scientists-to-be as humanly possible – and there seemed to be two unused plugs just beside it. Could any set up be more perfect? Except, of course, the fact that there was a person there. 

Skye could see the dark hair from where she stood, but the long strands were covering the person's face as they leaned down to busy themselves at some document they were reading. Whoever it was, Skye thought with a lackluster air of coolness she didn't think she still had, they probably wouldn't mind if she shared their table. 

And so, determined to stay despite the bustle and noise, Skye headed down in the direction of the table, only to feel her heart drop like a stone from her chest to her boots when she realized it was Melinda May at that table. 

May had moved her position slightly, sitting up more and brushing her hair from her eyes. That was when Skye had realized with the sudden force of a truck running her down when she thought she was safe on the crosswalk. The file she was mulling over looked to be in the manila colored jacket of some important document, probably SHIELD related. 

Could anything have turned out so perfectly? The moment had unfolded itself like a secretive note passed between the clammy hands of school children. It was a secret known only to her, and yet reality seemed to share it, giving her this opportunity to nourish it. _Go,_ some hidden element seemed to be urging. _Ask to sit down._

Skye had mixed feelings on this front. While so perfect a set up to get what she had been craving could never have revealed itself so well and easily, it also meant she had to act. And likely now – she wouldn't be able to hover there forever in some kind of awkward limbo the way she sometimes did after class. Those approaches were always fruitless, or so far as she could tell, and this would be no different if she chose to wait it out until it was too late. 

_No,_ she decided, with some factor of intense confidence and scrutiny of her previously exhibited behaviors, _you have to act. Come on Skye, get it together._


	4. Chapter 4

A push from herself was all Skye needed to begin moving her feet, which felt by now to have been coated in a millennium's worth of sediment, towards the table that was just a couple of meters away. She wasn't sure what she was going to say – or how she would even get her voice to escape from somewhere within where she had swallowed it – but she was going to try. 

She got to the table, and rested antsy fingers on the back of the unoccupied chair. To her surprise, May didn't even seem to notice her presence right away, so engrossed that she was in whatever-it-was she was reading. Skye let her eyes graze it in the moments before she cleared her throat to signal her presence, and the only thing she managed to catch wind of on the paper was the photo of a young girl with a petite face and long brown hair. 

May's face jolted up, seemingly startled at the noise that had reverberated so close to her, but her face didn't show it. It was just as hard and tired looking as usual – in fact, maybe even more tired – but Skye could at least note a little sparkle of recognition somewhere within those brown pools that now looked up at her so focused. 

“Hi agent May,” Skye opened, drumming her fingers nervously on the back of the chair. Her voice had come out much less shaky and agitated than she had expected, and for that she was deeply grateful. “I was just wondering – if you have the room over here – if you'd mind it if I sat down. Or something. I need a place to do my homework and it's pretty busy – ”

May didn't say anything, but simply moved a pile of three or four file folders that had previously been resting on the vacant side of the table. She moved them beside her elbow, covering up one side of what she was reading and the mysterious picture of the child, and then focused her eyes downward again. 

Not a chatty one, are you, Melinda? Skye found herself thinking. Without a verbal response it was hard to tell what May thought of her just planking herself down here – but Skye assumed that the movement of her things was a silent, secret agent code for go right ahead and take a seat, or something. And so she did, pulling her laptop out of the shoulder bag and setting it down on what was now her table space. 

She took a seat on the chair and peered over the top of her opened computer at May, who was as engrossed as ever in her task of reading the document spread before her. Once settled in, with the blank page for her paper opened up and her laptop successfully plugged into the life support of the outlet, Skye found that this was a lot more difficult than she surmised. May was unbearably silent outside the classroom – something she had for some reason not expected entirely – and being so close to her was far too distracting to even think about homework. 

Skye continually stole glances, and found that she froze up whenever May so much as moved to flip a page. The younger brunette feared breathing, almost, and swallowing. It all seemed so loud and disruptive to her own mind that she was overwhelmingly positive in that sense of certainty that only comes with being nervous, that May could hear it. 

Skye would type a few sentences, but then lose her train of thoughts to one her brain was trying to force her to favor: what do I have to say to get a conversation going? Continually, her brain came up empty. The paper moved at a snail's pace and so did her thoughts. Was her instructor who seemed, while maybe not lively, at least very much alive during their classes, really content to sit in silence the entire time? 

After an unbearable half an hour of being unsure of what to say, how to say it, or how to successfully do her homework without distraction, Skye decided it was time to go get a coffee from the counter. It would provide a few much needed things. Most specifically, a little moment away from the tense awkwardness of the table, some caffeine to perk her up, and a few moments by herself to figure out what it was she wanted to say to initiate some kind of interaction with the stoic statue across from her. 

Skye abruptly got up and the movement didn't seem to phase May at all. She flipped a page, reached for her phone to send a text message, and then went on back to reading. Skye made her way to the counter and was somehow alarmed to realize when she got there that she had barely been breathing. 

Rummaging through her wallet for a handful of change, Skye warily eyed the menu up above the counter. It was quite the relief to be away from the tense atmosphere for a few minutes. She listened to the guy in front of her – one of the Sci-Techs from the big group – order two cappuccinos, while mulling over what to get herself. 

And then the thought struck her – coffee. If she got May a coffee, would that break the ice? Would it be a scapegoat that she could use in her quest for conversation? It seemed like a plausible idea. It was worth a try, anyway, and she had more than enough change. 

Suppressing a smile at the brilliance of the idea, Skye eyed May from where she still sat a few meters away. She was still looking down as if she were under some kind of hypnosis, and she reached up with one of those experienced hands to tuck some locks of rebelling dark hair behind one of her ears. The gentle gesture filled Skye with a certain ripple of feeling – yearning, more than likely, and it brushed through her smoothly. Something about the woman's grace nudged her heart in all the right places, she couldn't quite explain it. It was something like a phenomenon. 

When Skye stepped forward to the counter, she ordered herself an iced latte – the cafe was hardly the right temperature for anything hot – and then she had a momentary lapse as she realized she had no idea what May would drink in the way of coffee. And so she ordered it black and opted to add some milk and honey herself after she got it. 

Both beverages in hand, Skye felt the momentary break from her nervous tension was coming to a close. She was reentering that gray area – where she would once again be at a rare loss for words and actions in the presence of her instructor. 

She reached the table and she set down the coffee cup in front of May boldly. The woman seemed to freeze in her reading, as if she had forgotten that Skye had even joined her in the first place. Then she lifted her head and stared soberly up at her student who stared down expectantly. 

Skye chose to speak, much to her own surprise. “I thought you could use one of these. Y'know, midterm blues and all that.” She joked, waiting for some kind of response, but most importantly, seeking a smile. A smile that she imagined would be magnificent and relieving, like the sun finally busting out of a week's worth of thick, impenetrable cloud cover. 

Not receiving any response beyond the same vacant stare, Skye took her seat hesitantly, feeling her heart beginning to pick up the drumming again. What did she have to say to get so much as a word out of this woman? “It might bring you back to life a bit. Usually works for me anyway,” Skye continued, knowing that her conversation was quickly evolving into one sided nervous prattling. “Usually. If it can't, then it's safe to say I'm – ”

“Thanks.” The reply was sudden, and brisk. Her tone of voice was the same as in class – no nonsense and stern. It reflected the emotions – or lack there of, truly – that floated by like mostly transparent clouds across her face. “But I don't drink coffee.” 

With that and a hard little line of the mouth that Skye assumed was maybe the roots of a sympathetic smile that simply could not grow, May tipped her head back down and was once again immersed in her reading. 

Skye felt a hard little pang in her stomach. “Oh. Sure.” Surely, she should have checked before buying to avoid disappointment. Her mind, in search of the positive in a situation that only seemed to grow more bleak, pointed out that the coffee had at least done its job. She had spoken to and acknowledged Skye, even if it was for a very brief period. 

Skye took a long swallow of her iced latte, the cool liquid feeling like redemption on her sore, dry throat. She was back to the drawing board. Proverbial step one. Or was she even at step one? Was step zero a thing? Because if it was, she thought with a coarse sense of self loathing that conjured itself up from the blue, she was one hundred percent grounded there. 

Typing away at her computer, Skye tried to teach her brain how to splice her thoughts so that she could consider her situation with May while still writing an at least mediocre paper. It wasn't working. They would bounce back and forth. _You should have considered that she might not be a coffee person – but yeah, the sniper rifle is ideal for a number of situations that normal guns simply wouldn't suffice in – but how was I supposed to know she doesn't drink coffee? And how am I ever going to get her to speak again?_

The paper was obviously the more important matter to be tended to, but as with many things the brain chose to do, it was very backwards for her. Despite knowing the urgency of her homework deadline, her mind continually drifted back to the woman across from her. She was shrouded in a cloak of mystery Skye simply couldn't see beyond, and that made it all the more appealing to attempt to do so. 

Ready to open her mouth again, Skye had just begun to push the words from deep inside, where the difficult-to-say things were manufactured, when she noticed it. It felt like a fracture to her heart when she saw it, a blow too difficult to swallow down. More of an impact than May's toughest punch. 

The silver sparkle, the glimmer of the modest gem encased inside – there was no doubt in Skye's mind that it was indeed a wedding band that snaked itself around the ring finger of her right hand. It had to be, for a ring in that style on that finger could only ever mean one thing. 

Her heart began to drum anxiously again. The cradle of hope in her chest was rocking viciously and threatening spilling out its contents. How had she not noticed something so crucial before? Especially since, she thought with some sting of chagrin, she spent most of her class time admiring the woman from afar? 

The more Skye thought about it and the more her blood pressure rose, the more she became almost painfully certain that May had never worn that thing in any of her classes. Sure – this was the first time she had seen her outside class – and it would certainly be a bad idea to wear something so special in a class like close combat, but...

It felt like she had been duped. She couldn't escape the feeling that this really was fruitless. She had changed programs, only to find out the woman she desired was taken? And not just taken, but married? That was a whole other can of worms that spelled out lifetime commitment, usually. 

Skye remembered fleetingly the first day that May had shown her what to do at the range. Her hands were close. Close enough to be around Skye's wrists, and Skye had gotten a clear look at them. There had been no ring present. The rational part of her mind tried to let her down easily while at the same time bringing the harsh window of reality into her thought process: she might have just forgotten it that day. Or maybe she takes it off to teach. 

Rationality, of course, made things make sense. But the sense was hurting – deeper and in a more personal way than she thought she would about May. After all, she didn't know her, and it didn't seem like the woman cared much to know her – but something about her prospects suddenly getting sliced down was so horribly disappointing. She could hardly stand to sit across from her instructor the more her eyes strayed to examine that delicate piece of jewelry wrapped around one slender, pretty finger. 

Something about it was unfair. Had she known this from the get go, she never would have even attempted to pursue any sort of closeness with this woman she so admired. A wedding ring was the one true sign that something wasn't going to work out – so why hadn't she just noticed and saved herself the grief that was now billowing inside? 

Skye found suddenly that she wanted to see Simmons. It was a sudden, almost desperate need that entered her system quicker than a flash of lightning. In part it made her feel guilty – her prospects with May were utterly collapsing around her feet, and so now was the perfect time to run into the arms of her best friend and love.

That's right. _Love._ Skye was already aware of how she felt about Jemma – quiet, understanding, sweet, passionate Jemma – it just seemed that she forgot about it in the presence of May. But now Skye ached for those gentle qualities that her best friend juggled with such kind precision more than she ever had before. 

Jemma was a good girl. A girl whose glances sometimes betrayed interest when her eyes grazed Skye, and whose smile always had a calming effect on the hacker. What had Skye even hoped to achieve by pursuing May in the first place? Especially when it could possibly hurt Jemma? Skye was certain that this doubt and sudden rejection of her feelings was simply a defense mechanism to fight the hurt she was experiencing, but her mind continually attempted to throw her into an all out mutiny against her blossoming infatuation with Melinda May. 

After a time, the brunette felt she could barely stand to sit there in stifled, smothered silence. It was time to go home and see Jemma – that was the one way to get past this. Maybe she could explain what had gone on. Maybe she would consider coming back to Sci-Tech. Her thoughts were a blur of irrationality all sparked by one little detail, her mind a highway full of speeding rash decisions. Either way, Jemma would know what to do or what to say to perhaps fix the gaping hole that was rapidly growing inside of her – because she always did.

Skye knew she had to take a step back, take a breath, and look at what had gone on with a mind that was clear and sober. AKA, a mind that was nowhere near the source of her almost magnetically powerful attraction. 

Quickly and suddenly closing her laptop, (and slamming it a little harder than she intended, she noted with some transparent sense of discomfort) Skye began to get herself ready to run through the door and away from the helplessness that was slowly overcoming her system. 

May seemed somehow startled by the girl's sudden movements, and Skye noticed that she had looked up as Skye rose to her feet and started opening up the mouth of her messenger bag. Skye could feel the older woman's eyes on her, strayed at least momentarily from the pages of interest in front of her, and it made attempting to take her leave all the more unnerving. 

Then the unthinkable happened. Or perhaps, the very thinkable, for Skye was sometimes very clumsy when her mind wasn't firmly on task with what she was doing. And this time, her thoughts and her mind were soaring on all kinds of different planes – and she paid duly for it. 

Upon lifting her laptop to slide it seamlessly into the padded care of her bag, Skye gave a knock to the coffee cup that May hadn't touched. It wasn't a vicious shove, by any means, but just enough of a nudge to send the full-to-the-brim container onto its side. 

The honey brown colored liquid poured out all over the table, gushing with the force of a broken dam over the files that May had just spent the last hour fully engrossed in. Skye nearly dropped her laptop to the floor in her shock, but she held tight to it and laid it in her chair just as the wave of coffee was dripping into May's lap. 

Skye only hoped it wasn't still hot as she reached for the papers on the table while attempting to conjure up some kind of apology from a muddled brain and a stomach that was growing equally as jeopardized. “Oh my god – I can't believe I just – ”

May was on the situation in an instant, lifting up the strewn cup and saving about a third of the coffee, and then grappling for the soaking documents before Skye could reach them. The brunette was shocked by her own clumsiness and also swallowing down some embarrassment, but she couldn't help but notice the distinctive shift in May's expression. Her face that had gone from expressionless entirely, to looking as if a very black cloud had just rolled in over its surface. 

Skye reached out her hands to attempt to grab the other soaked folders, but May stopped her advance with just a stern word: “Don't.” Some other people in the cafe were observing them, Skye could feel, as drips of coffee dribbled onto the floor. It was quite the scene. 

The word affected Skye's advance like a hot stove element would, and she recoiled her hands quickly at the sound of the sharp little word in her ears. _This is all my fault_ , she found herself thinking hotly, and then chose to protest. “This is my own stupid fault. I have serious tunnel vision. I can help, just let me – ”

May was using napkins to attempt to blot some of the coffee out of the file in her hand. She hadn't touched the soggy, still soaking ones yet. Her words now were cold; hard and stony like infertile earth. “Just don't. Go. I can get it.” 

“But agent May – ”

“Just go.” May didn't raise her voice, and she didn't need to. The full extent of her disappointment and irritation was transferred again in one word, and Skye found she had to wonder what kind of person could pack such an emotional blow with only a few sentences. 

Feeling she had no other choice, Skye packed away her laptop in a heavily awkward frenzy and hustled her way out of the cafe. She didn't say anything more or steal a backward glance at her instructor, instead simply bulldozed her way out of there not being able to stand the atmosphere one more second. She could feel the eyes of other nosy and intrigued patrons on her all the way out as she made her exit, and it somehow made her feel worse. 

By the time Skye reached the sidewalk and started the ten minute or so walk to her apartment, she felt utterly sick to her stomach. How was it possible to screw so much up? May probably wouldn't ever want to look at her now, she thought glumly, after she had given such a good show of idiocy. Then she remembered with a particular stinging pang of pain the reason why all of this had even begun – Melinda May was married. _Married._

Skye took a seat on the curb for a moment and cradled her head. She was only five minutes away from her apartment now after power walking the first five in her burst of fiery emotions and want to escape that cafe. She needed to sit and take a breather if she wanted to be fit to even talk to Simmons like a civilized human being – if a SHIELD academy student could even be considered a civilized human being anymore. 

Several minutes ticked by. Skye's thoughts ran over what had gone on earlier in the evening to an exhausting extent, the flattest of roadkill in her mind. She had mauled it to death. None of her thoughts could comfort her, feeling about as warm to her scorned system as an iceberg. Somehow, she wasn't calming down. 

The cool evening air, the sense of being alone, the quietness of the street – none of these things that usually worked to bring back a sense of clarity were working for her. After a time it began to become clear to Skye that her passion was stuck with her firmly for the rest of the evening. 

Only a full and satisfying night's sleep could help her now – and even that wasn't a full guarantee. That, she thought with some hollow echo of guilt somewhere in the deep recesses of her mind, or Jemma Simmons. She thought of her roommates pleasant smile, her jaunty tone, and her soft hands. Her full embraces. 

Something in her thoughts of the girl brought a sense of creature comfort and eased a little of the emotional torture and shredding that she had put herself through. Either way, her ultimatum was clear – she needed to see Jemma. Maybe they could talk it out, she could get some advice. Even hollow advice would be nice at this point. 

Mind made up, Skye scooped herself and what was left of her composure up off the sidewalk like someone's expelled chewing gum, and started for her apartment. A little calmness, she detected, had settled itself inside her and was swaying her to the side of rationality with its warm guiding hand. 

But by the time she got inside and reached the kitchen where her petite roommate was sitting delicately, nose stuffed in a thick textbook, Skye found out the hard way that calmness was simply not allowed into the equation. The state that her body had worked itself into – the humiliation, the wracking guilt, the lingering feeling of stupidity, the hurt – it overflowed the bathtub of her mind until her mouth had simply run away with her emotions and without her. This left her standing in the kitchen and reeling, on the brink of a confession she still wasn't sure she wanted to awaken. 

“I just don't get her. How can she be such a heartless – such a – such a robot?”


	5. Chapter 5

“I mean, it, I...it honestly doesn't make any sense! What is her _deal_?”

Jemma had no idea what her friend was about to disclose – utterly zero clue at all – the only thing that was apparent was that it was bad. And so she stood up from her seat at the kitchen table and began her approach towards her exasperated friend. 

“Skye? Who in the world are you talking about?” 

Skye stared at her moment, as if the utter nerve of her outburst was quieted by the sound of Jemma's voice. Something in her eyes was strained for a moment, and then it faded to a hardness that Jemma wasn't quite used to seeing from her usually easy going friend. “Oh, never mind. It's a long story, Jemma. I shouldn't have...just forget – ”

“No.” The one word that Jemma found herself expelling was clearly defiant, so much so that it almost surprised her herself. But she could tell her friend was hurting. And this hurt could easily explain Skye's odd behavior for the past while – it was time that it came into the light and identified itself for the ugly problem that it was. “Something is bothering you and it has been for bloody weeks. Just talk to me.”

Skye stared at Jemma again, and she seemed a little taken aback by the biochem student's determination to get to the bottom of things. In fact, Jemma herself wasn't too much of a fan of forcing someone to discuss matters they didn't much want to talk about, but sometimes it was a necessary evil. 

“It's...it's just really complicated Jemma. I don't know if I want to get into it.” Skye's voice was jaded and dejected, again something that was sticking up some major warning signs and red flags in Simmons' mind. It wasn't typical Skye behavior – Skye who was usually a master of disguise when it came to her feelings. 

“Well, then aren't you lucky that I've already got most of my homework finished.” Jemma smiled warmly, hoping to reassure the downtrodden brunette in front of her that she was here to help. “So let's talk. We've got all night.” 

What could it be, Jemma found herself thinking, that could hit her so hard that she could barely contain it? Skye made her way over to the couch in the living room after kicking off her shoes, already having dumped her laptop bag onto the floor. Jemma followed, reluctant to hear her friend in distress but at the same time quite curious. “Let me make you some tea.”

Skye didn't say anything and Jemma made her way into the kitchen, closing up her textbook as she passed by the table. She waited for her friend to start speaking – surely she said she didn't want to talk about it, but she'd definitely come in with the mindset to let the world know how she was feeling with that outburst. Something had changed her mind. 

Jemma steeped the tea in one of Skye's mugs, leaning against the counter and engrossing herself in thought. She might have to brace herself for the worst. This might be about a girl after all, she found herself considering. Given what she said – _how can she be such a heartless_ – and how the sentence in itself was said it seemed likely. 

Jemma found that her mouth was getting a little dry. Nervousness. This was something she couldn't afford to feel right now, after all, this was about Skye, and not her. And so she attempted to snap herself out of it as she finished with the tea and brought it in to Skye who was still sitting on the couch. 

Skye was watching the muted TV with a lackluster air of boredom, but some of the anxiety seemed to have passed through her body and into the cushions below her. Jemma thought this was good, though it did lessen the possibility that she would talk now. Laying the mug into Skye's lap, her friend broke out of the trance she was seemingly in, and Jemma was happy to note that a smile passed briefly over her features. A smile was a smile, however forced. 

“Now,” Jemma began, folding her hands in her lap after she had taken a seat. “Would you like to talk?” 

Perhaps she wanted to, Jemma surmised. Or perhaps she felt it was necessary after she had already let so much slip. Maybe she felt that her back was against the wall. Either way, Skye parted her smooth lips and started at the beginning. “Jemma. I have to confess. I lied to you.” 

Taken aback for a moment, Jemma felt the dull thumping of her heart in her chest. It moved rhythmically inside her like a grandfather clock, speeding up and hitting harder the longer she looked at Skye and considered what the lie could be. “Oh? You...you did?”

“Yeah. I'm sorry.” Skye took a momentary lapse to glance down into her tea mug, and then her eyes jumped back up into Jemma's. Simmons read such a fierceness in those eyes in that moment. Such a determination to let it all out, to spill her feelings across the sofa like the contents of the mug she clutched. “I didn't go to Operations because I had my, “defining moment”, or whatever. I don't know what that even means anyway. I went because I met someone.” 

_I met someone._ Three little words, and inner fears within Jemma's core were awakened. Just a pin drop and they were up and about and prowling her system. She tried to ignore their deep rooted, disruptive growling and press on with the situation, despite how her heart threatened to gag her. “Go on.”

“...well, I didn't really meet her. I mean. Not until I actually went there.” Skye was getting exasperated again very quickly. She drummed her fingernails on the outer edge of the mug and it made several nice little musical sounds that didn't quite fit in with the mood shift. “I was attracted to her, and I thought maybe I could get to know her, so I – ”

“So you changed over to Operations.” 

“Yeah.” 

There was a silence taking hold of the room now, slipping its frigid hands in for the choke hold. Jemma watched Skye fight with her own mind, it seemed, for the words she wanted to pass through her lips. She stared into the tea in her hands as if it were a mystical pool holding the secrets of the meaning of life. 

Jemma pursed her lips together. She wasn't altogether surprised that she had met someone – after all, that's what her suspicions had been from the very beginning – but she couldn't deny that the realization that it was real was bringing a sour taste to her tongue. Had she been wrong about her uncertainty when it came to Skye? All this time, had she been ignoring something deeper? 

Either way, the girl determined, that could be dealt with at a later time. For now, Skye needed some guidance and some reassurance, some confidence. Something had gone wrong. Jemma forced herself to smile one of her best cheeky grins, and reached out a hand. She laid it gently on Skye's arm. “If you met someone, that's wonderful!”

Skye looked up and smiled now, but it was weak and deflated and didn't last long. It faded and paved the way for more dismal, hopeless words. “Sure, I mean, it would've been...except she's married.” 

Jemma couldn't help letting her jaw fall slack into a gobsmacked expression of utter surprise. “She's...married?” What did that even mean? Surely, it wasn't impossible. Jemma had met a couple of SHIELD Academy students who had had a late start and were a little older, and married. But the overwhelming majority were single, college students in their early to mid twenties with little else to worry about but their various training programs. But perhaps that was just on the Sci-Tech side. Maybe there were more older students at Operations. “That's...well. How did you find out?” 

“That's just the thing. I only just found out. Like twenty minutes ago.” Skye's words were the epitome of bitter. “I noticed her ring on her finger when I was sitting across from her at that stupid cafe.” She took a sip from the tea finally. Then she continued in the same forward, self loathing manner. “Like how did I not notice something like that before, Simmons? It changes everything...I'm so stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.” 

“No, no. Stop that. You're not stupid.” Jemma defended almost immediately, putting up her hands like a signal to gesture Skye to stop the self bashing. “It could have been anyone's mistake, you know. Maybe she doesn't wear the ring all the time, and you know, it is quite odd – at least in my experience – to encounter any academy students who are already married. You're not stupid, Skye...it just wasn't the most obvious thing. You can't blame yourself for that.” Jemma was gentle with her words, soft spoken as she typically was.

But she noted, just as she gently rubbed the other girl's forearm in a comforting gesture, that Skye's expression had plummeted yet again. Despite how Jemma had painstakingly thought through them, the words that had been uttered by the biochem student seemed to only further horrify Skye. 

“Skye? What is it?” 

“I haven't been like...totally honest with you here, Simmons. Okay. Here goes.” Jemma watched the brunette close her eyes and she took in a smooth, quiet inhale of breath. Jemma stared her down quizzically for another few moments, and then she spoke, and everything was turned for another loop. “She's not a student. She's...one of my instructors.” 

Jemma was aghast at this news. She recoiled her hand from Skye's arm slowly, and simply stared. If words had been practically lost to her before, she was abandoned in a barren desert now without a word or phrase in sight – let alone a comforting one. What was she even thinking? 

“I know it's crazy...” Skye was saying then, taking a sip from her tea and then placing it half full on the coffee table beside her. She fidgeted absent-mindedly with the button on the front of her shirt. “And I don't really know how to even explain it. Like. Have you ever just...been drawn to somebody? For no reason?” 

Jemma knew that she had, and that that very person was sitting in front of her saying just those words. Those words and probing into Jemma's eyes with her own that were so very delicate in that moment, like two incredibly fragile pieces of china that would shatter irreparably if handled with anything other than the utmost of care. 

Jemma had been drawn to Skye despite the little that they had in common. Truly, the two girls couldn't have differed more from their program of choice to their personal interests, and it seemed that canyon was even more vast since Skye enrolled in Operations. And yet, here they were, very close friends, colleagues and confidantes. Despite the things in their lives that should perhaps have separated them for worse, they seemed all the more close because of it. It was like a perfect balance.

So, yes, she had been drawn to someone inexplicably before, but that didn't mean it was any easier to find the words. “Skye...” Jemma began, trying to ward off her own exasperation that was slowly taking hold of her like some kind of demon. “She's your instructor...or she is now...isn't that a little taboo? And wouldn't it have made more sense to not get into her classes for that purpose?”

“I know it's stupid, but I didn't say any other way to get close to her.” 

“If she works in the academy she's got to be at least in her thirties or forties...” Jemma said, musing out loud about it, not even sure if she was speaking directly to Skye anymore. It was as if she were thinking aloud objectively about a situation that was much further from her than this one was. This one was, in fact, looking her dead in the face. “How could something like that ever even work?” 

“I know...” Skye was sounding more and more disappointed the further this conversation went, and Jemma began to realize she may not have been saying the right things at all. After all, she wasn't the best on giving advice about these topics – mostly because she had little to no experience in them – but Skye simply seemed to spiral more and more downward. “I wonder what I was even thinking, y'know? Of course someone like her would already be married. And what was I even thinking she would see in me? And being my professor and all...” Skye shook her head, and brandished what seemed to be the failed starts of a wan smile. “She would never go for that.” 

Jemma could feel a heaviness in her chest for Skye's situation that she couldn't describe. It was the very essence of gravity's pulling motion sitting like a several ton weight inside her rib cage. It seemed to pull her words away from her, as well, like a bunch of magnets towards a giant fridge. She couldn't grapple them, and Skye continued to ramble on, her tone of voice and expressions and body language only becoming more destructive. 

“And I mean, god, I was at that cafe with her and I was just the biggest idiot to ever walk the planet...” Skye picked at a fingernail, and then as if by force of habit, stopped and continued to casually swirl the button on her blouse between her index and and thumb. “It was like I didn't even know English, or something. I didn't know what to say. And then when I noticed the ring I just – ”

“Skye – ”

“ – I just like totally lost it. I tried to leave and I knocked over the coffee that I got her that she didn't even want, and...it spilled all over these important documents or whatever it was she was looking at.” Skye glanced up into Jemma's eyes and her expression spoke volumes of pure, tortured mortification. “And then I just sorta ran out. I don't know how I'm ever gonna look at her again, let alone show up to one of her – ”

Jemma had scooted over closer to Skye on the couch, and reached out with two of her small, smooth hands to grasp firmly onto Skye's face. The sudden motion had jolted Skye out of whatever sort of humiliated spiel she had lost herself in, Jemma noted. The other girl's cheeks felt warm under Jemma's touch, as if a candle was lurking and flickering just below the skin of her face. “Skye.” Jemma said soberly. 

Skye didn't move or try to talk, so Jemma figured it was her window now that her friend had snapped out of it successfully. Simmons stared her friend directly in the eye without moving the soft hold she had upon her. “Skye. Listen to me. You've got to stop beating yourself up over this.” Jemma placed emphasis on that last bit, hoping that what she was saying would get through to her very distraught roommate. “You didn't know – it was an honest mistake – and god knows I've done worse things than spilling coffee on someone.” 

That managed to coax a small smile from Skye's system that seemed up to that point only capable of spewing negativity, and this in turn cause Jemma to feel a grin of her own dancing across her lips. “We're not going to get into those many awkward moments – but they've happened. Yes, she may be married, but...if you admire her so much, you can still take her classes and maybe find a friend in her. She's not going to be mad about what happened this evening. As I've told you a million times this semester, you've got to cut yourself some slack.” 

Jemma finally lowered her hands from Skye's face to fix them onto her shoulders. There she gripped onto their boniness firmly, and gave the brunette a little shake. “It's not the end of the world, right? Everything will work out. It always does, doesn't it?” 

Skye's expression in the next few moments that ensued was suddenly unreadable. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but when no words graced the presence of the two women she closed her lips again. Her eyes seemed a little lighter – perhaps more elated by the encouragement, was the Brit's hope. But Simmons herself found that the discrepancy between what she expected Skye to do and what the ever unpredictable brunette actually did was much greater than she could have ever imagined.

Jemma felt her own hands losing their grip as Skye's hand reached over to her in an instance of slow motion and snatched the tie that was peeking timidly out of Jemma's sweater into gripping, slender fingers of steel. Jemma saw what path Skye's intuition was leading her down in an instant, and she felt her lungs freeze up as if they had just been given a high dose of tranquilizer. 

Instead of delivering any sort of closing statement, Skye used the silky fabric nestled in the palm of her hand to close the space between the two girls at an alarmingly fast pace. Jemma felt that her heart was going to beat so fast that it would explode inside of her as Skye's lips came towards her own in what felt like no time at all. 

Her thoughts were incoherent and she could feel the light layer of sweat on the nape of her neck, under her hair, as Skye's lips smashed together with hers in a way that could only be described as a quiet violence; it was packed with some hard desperation, things unsaid, and an almost tangible sense of yearning.


	6. Chapter 6

Skye regretted it the moment she let it happen. 

It was all so fast that somehow she felt she couldn't have stopped herself in the moment even if she had suddenly gotten rational. Despite how soft Jemma's tongue felt brushing off of her own as Skye used her now faltering and stumbling grip on the tie to deepen their kiss; despite how the other girl's hands, resting still now like weights on Skye's shoulders, trembled ever so slightly; despite how Skye felt she had sorely needed it in that moment more than anything else – something in her mind objected. 

It was wrong, her mind told her with a firm sense of disappointment. It was wrong to tell Jemma all about this woman who you fell into fruitless affections with – probably, the sinister little voice in the back of her head emphasized, making her feel greatly unimportant and rejected – and then kiss her like this. 

Everything about it was wrong, and yet it took her a good thirty seconds or more of mindlessly devouring the kiss that the moment had been presented with before she finally took a step back and began pulling away from her roommate. 

Skye dreaded the kiss's cessation – for it truly was, something that she had always craved. Ever since that night on the roof watching the fireworks, Skye had wondered to a particularly heavy degree what it would be like to taste that mouth. She had looked at Jemma's delicate skin, and had wanted more than anything to touch it and truly feel it under her hands. To leave her fingerprints all over the pale, smoothness of it, utterly ruining it. And finally, the time had presented itself – but like most things lately, she had screwed that up, too. 

Skye backed off a little, trying to avoid Jemma's probing stare that she could feel as she zoned in on the couch cushions beneath them both. It was probably an incredulous look, Skye surmised grimly, as the stare pressed into her skin like a heated laser, a constant reminder of its presence. Soon enough it would burn under her skin and through her bones, and she would be forced to take a glance up. 

_What the hell are you thinking_ , that stare would exclaim in the unique fashion that only eyes can piercingly yell. It would be a surprised look, a disgusted look, an impossibly horrible look that would make Skye want to run out the door. She swallowed and felt nothing cascade down her painfully dry throat for what felt like the millionth time that evening. Then she spoke. “I'm so, so sorry Jemma. I don't even know what I'm...”

Skye's voice trailed hopelessly off, and she decided to take the plunge. Couldn't be any worse than what had already gone on. She lifted her gaze hesitantly and met with Jemma's, but what she saw wasn't what she had anticipated. 

Sure, Jemma was staring, but her lip wasn't curled in disgust or rage, and angry, spitting words didn't seem as though they were just beyond the seal of her mouth now. Her eyebrows were furrowed in a solid expression of confusion, and something in her eyes sparked another feeling inside Skye. It was like a deep strike to the gut. Her eyes reflected gaping confusion, and Skye had the feeling that Jemma wouldn't have the words to speak even if she knew what to say. 

Skye could feel embarrassment creeping up upon her like the most irritating menace. She had to get out. Standing up on knees that were shakier than she would ever admit, she spoke yet again into the face of utter shock whose shadow still hadn't left Jemma's expression. “I'm just gonna go lie down for a bit – ”

The awkward brunette's ascent from the couch, however, was interrupted by a hand that had jutted out and suddenly froze itself onto her forearm, trying to keep her back, and hold her in place. Startled, Skye turned around and was faced with Jemma's stare yet again. 

This one had shifted moods, however, and what crossed her face now was not shock or despair, but something else. “Um...” was pushed hotly from Jemma's lips, but there was no follow up. Half standing, Skye watched the girl who was still sitting on the couch and blushing hard for a few moments before she found herself coaxed back into her spot. 

Something reflected in the sordid surface of Jemma's chocolate eyes now spoke volumes to Skye – volumes about how the kiss had somehow been the right move. For both of them. The desire that had been so blotted out by her uncertainty about the move started to slowly creep back into her mind, climbing up the rungs of her spine like a strategically placed ladder. 

_Desire._ The very word rode on Jemma's breath, clinging to it, as Skye felt it brush her own lips as she wasted no time diving in for a second kiss. This kiss was fuller and less hesitant, and Skye could feel her hands shooting out to clasp around the other girl's waist. _Easy_ , her mind warned her, a foreboding yellow light in the blur of her mind. She didn't want to get too heavy too fast and risk scaring her off. 

Skye clenched slender fingers around Jemma's waist, feeling the heat of her skin through her shirt. This heat was like something contagious as it spread then to Skye's skin, the hot breath of arousal creating a barrier of sweet longing between the girls and a simultaneous pang of nervous discomfort deep in Skye's stomach. 

Nipping playfully at Jemma's lip while she worked their tongues together, Skye could feel the soft hands of her roommate sliding down her shoulders slowly, then running back up and nestling into her hair. Feeling the slight shift in the other girl's body language, Skye fleetingly and somewhat hesitantly accepted it as a gateway to touch. 

Sliding her hands up thin sides, the somewhat jittery hacker extraordinaire used her fingers to explore a flat stomach and the modest mounds just above it. Every movement was like the birth of chemistry between them, Skye noted – a firm squeeze of the bust led to her loosening Jemma's tie, and before long she felt the shaking, fumbling hands of the biochem student working away at her line of buttons. 

With every movement walls seemed to come shattering down around them. Walls neither girl had ever been aware they were building. As Jemma worked the brunette's shirt around her shoulders and Skye pulled the young scientist's top up over her head, Skye wondered more and more how this had not happened sooner. She began to lose sight of that calming, flashing yellow light in her mind. The one that said proceed with caution. It began to fall out of her line of sight, the way houses become smaller and smaller as you take off in a plane, and before long the yellow had entirely warped itself somehow into green. 

_This is your chance_ , such a vibrant green whispered seductively in her ear. It was the internationally accepted go signal, and it was quickly becoming too difficult to slow down the more the lime color blurred her vision. 

Skye felt her hands on Jemma's skin finally once she had wrestled her out of whatever fancy garb she was clad in. Truth be told, it looked a lot less impressive on the floor, but it didn't change the glee that was subsided just adjacent to her excitement. Simmons' skin was somehow exactly like Skye's mind had before stitched it to be in thoughts that sometimes draped over her mind in the dark of night. It was soft and smooth, supple, like baby's skin. 

Jemma's hands were upon her as well; back and stomach, shoulders and neck and breasts all in a wildfire fury that Skye was never totally sure the Brit had in her. Never totally sure, at least until now. But here they were, on their couch together raiding this newly discovered territory like virgins to the game of romance as they ravaged each other's bodies, eating up what was presented to them with ravenous fingers. 

Skye drilled some rough kisses into the somehow even more delicate skin of Jemma's neck, and found her hands wandering towards the waist of Jemma's dress pants with an ulterior motive that her mind wasn't completely aware of yet. The scientist's breath hitched a little as she lifted her hips so that Skye could slide the black fabric down, but around pale knees they remained sagging. Something in the suddenness and the fire of their encounter made pulling them all the way off seem pointless, Skye noted – she just wanted to gather all of Simmons to her without wasting a single moment. The newly exposed thighs and hips were scalding to the touch as Skye ran her fingers along the surface, taking into account each one of the girl's goosebumps as she did so. 

Everything about this was like a deep rooted fantasy that had somehow come into possession of a pen that could ink reality. For once in what felt like a disturbingly long time, Skye's mind had drifted far away from Melinda May and zoned in entirely on the present. 

Skye began to climb on top of her roommate who didn't meet her awkward movements with any sort of resistance or friction. They tried to keep their lips locked together as they moved to have Jemma recline onto the arm of the couch, but it was a little more difficult than Skye had surmised – and so she simply ended up dropping incredibly gentle kisses to the corner of Jemma's mouth as she positioned her body on top of the other's. 

Contained near her her ear was a reserved, almost embarrassed moan as Skye's line of kisses gradually progressed from Jemma's mouth to her neck, to her breasts. Delicate fingers danced on and grabbed at her back, and once even ventured down the back of her pants, Skye noted, as she ground their bodies harder and tighter together. 

She reveled in Jemma's lack of breath, the heat of her skin, the utter exasperation that seemed to roll off the girl in waves – there was a certain inescapable fury in the physical feelings Skye suddenly wanted to manifest all over Jemma's skin. It was too big to fit inside her body or mind and it only grew; too fast, needy and necessary to be ignored or tamed. 

It was this raw, animal like ferocity that sparked Skye to begin moving her hands further down on Jemma. The breathing beneath her convulsed with some heavy degree of anticipation when Skye's hand made thirsty contact between her legs. Skye found she too was nearly eaten alive by her feverish excitement, and it was hard to shake of the tremors of this elated feeling as they threatened a mutiny over her body. 

Skye touched tentatively, provocatively stroking the wetness on the outside of panties that Skye had caught a quick glimpse of; an adorable polka dot pattern. She was always listening closely to the soft sound that followed indefinitely, unavoidably thereafter each new advance she made, resounding like an echo in a deep cave. 

Skye felt the sharp pinch, like several individual bee stingers along her spine as Simmons' nails sunk into her back. The sweat on the nape of her neck was getting heavier and Skye could feel her heart hammering what felt like a thousand beats per second as she slipped her hand down the front of Jemma's panties. 

Another moan rolled off the delicious lips of the girl beneath her, a little less reserved this time as Skye was greeted with the warm wetness of the other girl. Skye gripped the back of the scientist's neck as if for leverage as she sunk two fingers inside, and the sound that reverberated just beyond her shoulder only served to spur the already incredibly lusty brunette on even more. 

Jemma was soft and very tight, and Skye took extra care as she worked the third finger inside that sweet spot. “Skye...” The other girl's voice was pained with a particular brand of torture now, her nails all but cutting into Skye's back like knives. 

Skye's mind was a blur as she began to take Jemma apart with a slow rhythm to her hand. A blur of crimson desire that was only made foggier by the ultimate quickness of the situation; the sound of Jemma's mewls that she tried to hush, the hands gripping into her spine for dear life, the heat and the sweat of their bodies pressed together all played an important role in Skye's growing, all encompassing need to rub this girl entirely raw.

The urges she felt now seemed sudden, as she picked up the pace in her strokes, but she knew they weren't. This was something she had wanted – perhaps something they had both wanted, Skye dared to embellish – for much longer than she would before have believed. 

The strain in Jemma's voice and the desperate bucking of petite hips as she rode Skye's fingers closer to the top only emphasized this point in bold for her. Whether it was the oppressive nature of being in a dorm with other girls that had stopped them, or their combined timidity, or the simple uncertainly of whether or not it was the right step, it had kept them shut behind fortresses that had clearly been locked and fortified much too long. 

Skye could feel in the tensity between them that Jemma was reaching the brink. Her mind blurred, faltered, trying to wander into other topics, but the girl beneath her always managed to bring her back. The sound of her voice as it first grew stronger and louder was like an anchor, keeping Skye fully grounded in the moment. The ferocity of the pleasure Skye was lacing through her was reaching its peak – this Skye knew for she could practically feel the pleasure tearing through her in the same manner.

The consummation of something she had wanted for what seemed like forever brought a certain sense of euphoria to her mind, as she eased tense groaning out of her roommate. Before long, the tension reached its peak and exploded like a dramatic pink firework across the night sky. Like the ones the two of them had seen together on the Fourth of July and Skye had thought warily, in her drunken honesty, how great it would have been to take Jemma right there, right then, on the roof of the building. 

Jemma came with one final sharp cry, as she hugged Skye tight to her body as if to prevent falling into a deep, never ending canyon. Skye supposed, that was sort of what orgasm felt like – finally falling and accepting the fall after teetering on the edge for what felt like years. She clutched Jemma to her as the girl's voice progressively grew quieter and weaker, once again restrained by an all encompassing modesty that prevailed in her personality. 

As per usual, the orgasm seemed to take even longer departing than it did actually rupturing Jemma's system with satisfaction. Skye simply lay there trying to resist the dopey smile that was threatening to take over her lips as Jemma came down from the high. Finally, she had gotten somewhere with Simmons – and what had just transpired between the two of them could spark progression into something even greater, Skye's mind reminded her tenderly. 

What had transpired, or rather, what was still transpiring – suddenly Skye felt Jemma's hands come to life again as if by some electric shock. The girl beneath her had resumed breathing normally, and now she snatched away at the button of Skye's jeans with gentle tremors gyrating her hands. 

Skye bit her tongue a little bit and lifted her body just enough, as Jemma had some time before, to let Simmons slide the jeans off of her after she had released the oppression of the button and zipper. The pants came about halfway down her thighs before Skye felt the same soft, shy hands taking the plunge and slipping in beneath her panties as well. 

_Guess it's my turn_ , Skye found herself thinking – somehow, the thought hadn't crossed her mind that she would get a chance to get off. Simmons was so timid, so passive in situations like this despite the passion that exploded in her nature, she somehow hadn't expected any reciprocation – but as she felt Jemma's fingers pressing assertively at her opening without idling, she was suddenly deeply pleased that she had been wrong. 

Simmons buried her face in Skye's neck – still timid, Skye found herself musing – at the first push that yielded penetration, and the brunette on top felt the tingling sensation up her spine that the delicious sensation ignited in her system. 

The fire within her core took no time in heating up as Skye used her other hand to wiggle further out of her pants, so that she could straddle the other girl's waist with her knees. Jemma entered her deeper with the aid of this more generous position and Skye found that she let her voice rise and fall with her deep sensations without any sense of needing to hold back. 

Jemma was better than Skye perhaps expected, the quickness of the pleasure building catching her somehow off guard. Her heart ran a marathon and more as she clutched at Jemma's head and her face and her hair, resisting the urge to sink her teeth into the scientist's supple shoulder below her. 

Skye felt the moans riding and rising on her breath, and she felt the fire that raged inside her from even getting the chance to be touched by Simmons in such an intimate way was going to burn up and eat her bones entirely before the orgasm that was quickly approaching would be remotely done with her. 

It was an odd thing to bring her to the point of spilling, but Skye suddenly heard Jemma's breathing in her ear – hot, loud and trembling – and then all it took was a brisk kiss to Skye's cheek, lips loitering perhaps a little too long on her skin. She lost herself in the pleasure that overcame her, feeling her body convulse as she echoed Jemma's name to the naked walls of their shadowy apartment. 

The tremor that shook her was intense, and she felt somehow like it had shaken the entire couch, moving it on the floor. She knew such a thing was impossible or an exaggeration, but the height of her happiness and feeling as though her needs were satisfied for the first time in a long time simply billowed inside her system. 

Exhaling loudly her pleasure, Skye leaned down to plant a kiss on Jemma's face – anywhere, forehead, cheek, nose, something – but when she let her eyes drop downward she was met with a different sight. She was met with a fear she didn't even know existed until it presented itself in front of her, spread out flat and obvious like the essence of vulnerability.


	7. Chapter 7

There were wet streaks – presumably tracks left by tears – left fresh on Jemma's chiseled cheeks. Skye felt her mouth falling open as her eyes met with Jemma's and she attempted to push some kind of words out of her mouth. But all that seemed to depart her lips in her risky rush was an incomprehensible noise that she hoped at least expressed concern.

After a time Jemma avoided her gaze and sniveled, a delicate sound, and then wiped away the evidence of light tears with the back of her hand. After watching her movements closely, wondering with a sudden desperate sense of worry if she should be climbing off of her right about now, Skye finally gripped words in hands that were slippery with nervous sweat. “Jemma – what – are you okay?”

Skye was fretting deeply – had she done something wrong? Did she somehow force Jemma into doing something she hadn't wanted, or hadn't been ready to do? Could all this bliss she'd been feeling been so opposite for her friend? 

Waiting for a response, Skye watched Simmons open her mouth to speak and then close it, seemingly wrestling with an issue in her mind that was tougher than an ultimate fighter. Blush filtered to her face as she struggled with herself, and before long she was pushing a flurry of words into the silence of their living room that had suddenly changed shades to quite awkward. “I'm sorry Skye – I mean – it was nothing that you...well...” 

“Well what?” Skye was horrified. She climbed up onto her haunches and adjusted her panties onto her body before hauling Simmons up into a sitting position. “Did I do something to – ”

“No,” Jemma said suddenly, seeming equally as horrified as she held up her hands as if to signal for Skye to stop. “It's not your fault and I don't want you to think that it's anything you did when it's really rather...difficult to explain.” 

Skye cocked her head, a gentle, innocent tilt and gesture of misunderstanding. “Okay. Well try because I'm really – ”

“I just get emotional,” Jemma said briskly, wringing her hands in her lap in a tell tale motion of nervousness. “Sometimes when I – ...you know. I just can't stop it. I'm sorry if it's off putting but this is not the first time this has happened and it isn't the first time that I've had to explain it when the truth is I don't quite know how to explain it, except that I can't really control it, and I – ”

Jemma's voice and explanation were quickly careening out of control, but Skye could get the gist of it – and she reached out and hugged her friend with such a ferocity that she almost startled herself. The night had gone from being so horrible to being so amazing quite quickly, and it had almost gone south yet again without Skye even being completely aware of it until it was already sliding down the slippery slope of discomfort. 

The relief she felt now was unmatched. “So you're sure I didn't – ” Skye wondered how she didn't notice it before, for Jemma had gone through orgasm first – but it clicked in to her then that she hadn't gotten a clear look at the other girl's face until it was all over.

“Yes. I'm sure. It's just...something that happens. If anything it just proves that you – well, you. You were very good.” 

The relief was almost numbing compared to the pain of panic that she had felt piercing her stomach just moments before. Skye could feel a giddy grin returning to her features now at Jemma's final sentiment, feeling the gentle caress of the other girl's small hands on her shoulder blades now. It was very calming to be in Jemma's arms, especially now that she knew what had nearly thrown her from glee into heart attack was actually normal. 

Well, normal wasn't quite the word that came to mind, Skye thought, as another snivel resounded just beside her ear. But it was normal for Jemma, she supposed – or at least, according to Jemma. She rubbed the heat of her palms into Simmons' back as well, wanting to instill the same feelings of comfort and warmness. Safety. 

Skye had heard of the phenomenon before – people who cry during or after sex – but it was definitely one of those things she didn't occupy her mind with everyday, and it wasn't something she somehow ever expected to be faced with. But none of that mattered in the face of the fact that she hadn't done something wrong. Or, something _else_ wrong, her mind crudely reminded her, and she tried to continue the pattern of keeping the evening's previous shadows from casting themselves too darkly on her complexion.

The girls remained in silence for a time, shifting their positions a little. Simmons adjusted her clothing - or what was left of it – and sat up straight with her back against the couch. Skye let herself droop like a flower that had gone a long time without water, resting her head in her roommate's lap with some prevailing sense of ease. 

Jemma cradled her head, and Skye was suddenly aware of exactly why she had wanted to return home so badly when she left the cafe. This was exactly it. Whether Simmons was aware of it or not, her touch and her demeanor, how she chose to caress or rub, the softness of her hands as they stroked the side of Skye's neck, the warmth of her embrace – all these things deeply awoke a sense of security within Skye like no other. She was home, and she was safe, even from her own failures and insecurities. 

Minutes ticked onward, simply more proof that the world didn't stop spinning for anyone or anything. Skye could feel Jemma's fingers tracing her scalp and tousling her hair, playing with it softly, and she felt that sleep hovered idly just beyond her mind's eye. One moment of weakness and she would be swept up into its cloud, unable to fight the haunting influence of dreams. 

Before it could catch her off guard however, Jemma began to move. “If it's alright with you,” Skye heard somewhere above her in her sleepy haze, “I'm going to get in the shower. I've got an early class tomorrow morning and I would rather do it now than in the morning.” 

Skye nodded lazily, grunting grumpily when Jemma slid out the support from beneath her head. The biochem student at least slid a pillow there in her place, Skye noted, as she listened to the tiny fairy footsteps of Jemma Simmons progress towards the mouth of the hallway. 

A thought crossed her mind and Skye simply opened the floodgates from mind to mouth, not bothering to process what it was she was about to emit in her state of comfortable, exhausted numbness. “You know what you said earlier about it being off putting – ”

“Pardon?” Jemma shouted from further away. Presumably she was close to or in their washroom now. 

Skye raised her voice a little and almost chuckled at an audible crack she heard in it, as if having to speak in non hushed tones was suddenly a chore too strenuous to bear. “Earlier, you said it was off putting – but I think you were pretty much totally adorable. Just saying.” 

Skye didn't move from her position on the pillow in the center of the couch, and didn't open her eyes, but she heard clearly Jemma's incredulous laugh from the hallway and found herself broadly smirking. She believed that the dirty look Jemma more than likely shot her at that moment was one of just as much disbelief, and her roommate didn't do or say anything else on the matter before Skye heard the click of the washroom door closing. And then, the distant, hot hiss of running water against a curtain. 

Skye remained curled up there in just her bra and panties, feeling slightly cold but not quite chilled enough to risk the integrity of her doze to get up and get a blanket from somewhere. She listened to the whisper of the water, the only sound in the hollow silence of their apartment. 

For once, things seemed to be going okay – for the first time in a while, at least. Skye let her mind graze thoughts and possibilities of returning to Sci-Tech, but then a face surfaced vividly in her mind; like an immaculately candid and beautiful oil painting. 

A painting of a mystery woman, who never smiled; a woman who taught her sound lessons and firm instruction, but who still indefinitely had a humongous heart; a woman who betrayed some sense of silent, depraved torture in her dark eyes. Melinda May. Melinda May, who was evidently married. Melinda May, who Skye was disappointed to find she still wanted, regardless of such a cold, merciless fact. 

But there was no time to think of such things now, she surmised. And so Skye pushed all thoughts of this woman away, including the luscious portrait in her mind, into the deep, untouched recesses of her skull. The last thoughts and images to grace her mind before sleep covered her eyes with its worn, healing hands, were of Jemma Simmons – her warmth, her soft tongue and deep, intimate kisses, and her gentle, serene smile, identical to a dancing beam of sunshine after weeks of dismal rain.


	8. Chapter 8

Melinda was becoming a recluse. 

For some odd reason, the realization had taken some time to dawn on her, like a slowly growing mountain of debt. Hanging over her head, the ugliest of spiders taking its time and savoring the moment when it would finally plop down on her shoulder.

Yes, it was something she should have realized months ago, but it wasn't until she awoke, face down on her desk for the third time that week, neck screaming for mercy, that it finally occurred to her. She was becoming a recluse. Maybe not even becoming. Perhaps she was already there. 

May did recognize that her reluctance to return home and her contentedness to stay in her office at the SHIELD Academy Operations Division was getting out of hand. She knew it, she truly did, and yet it seemed that as the weeks dragged on at their alarmingly slow pace, she spent more and more nights there. More nights contorting her spine in unhealthy ways to cradle her head on that hard surface than she did at home in a bed beside her husband. 

Truth be told, even when she did stay at home, she was never beside him. Her hesitance to be touched or to interact with anyone – even him – had transformed the couch into a welcome zone of solitude to shelter her from the heartache and pain of having to lie beside him in bitter silence. 

Divorce was a funny thing. In a few months time she would be single – but yet, despite the fact that she had initiated it, it seemed impossible to imagine, after years of marriage. She knew that she had to end it – it was one of the only things she was sure about in those tedious, harrowing months – but at the same time, it seemed weird to not wear her wedding ring. The single life was an elusive stranger lurking in the distance. It had been a long time since she had tangoed with it, nearly a decade, in fact. But whatever it had in store, she knew it would be better than this stalemate. 

Stretching out her spine and leaning back on her chair, Melinda eyed warily a spot of drool on her desk. It was a pitiful reminder of what her life was spiraling downward into, like a whirlpool of gray, and she chose to ignore it in favor of a glance at the clock on the wall. 

The hands read 8:34. She hadn't overslept, and her first class – yoga and meditation – didn't start for another hour and a half. She glanced feebly at the bag of clothes under her feet, tucked under the desk for secrecy and safe keeping. She would change her clothes, freshen up in the employee washroom, and then she could go to class. Or do some tai-chi before leaving her office. Something to keep herself far away from being stuck alone with her thoughts, a villain with a large knife in a small room. 

She would have to go home tonight, probably, she surmised grimly. She could shower and do laundry and spend the night, as much as the idea of it gave her a tightness and a pain in her chest. Exhaling a long sigh that was perhaps the result of this pain, Melinda rubbed her face with her hands before picking up her mobile from the corner of the desk. 

Upon lighting up, the screen read: 

_8:38 am  
Friday, April 6th_

_Missed Call(s) :  
Drew (3)  
Phil Coulson (1)_

_(2) New voicemail_

May groaned a little out loud to herself, beginning to hear some bustle out in the hallway of students rousing themselves to go to class. The stomping sound was a familiar one, letting her know that the day was going to go on at its snail pace regardless of what she chose to do – and so, she decided, she could at least listen to the voicemails. No need to call Drew back, for she would be home later. 

Opening up her phone, May dialed her voicemail and put it up to her ear. The robotic little woman inside told her she had two messages, and then played the first one without hesitation. May swallowed, but it did nothing for her aching, dry throat. 

_Melinda, I know you aren't going to pick up, but I wish you would._ There was a pause. The compassionate, endlessly concerned voice emitting into her ear was easily the tone of her husband, Andrew Garner. _You said you wanted your space, and I understand. But I need to know where you're going at night. I'm worried sick about you, as much as you might not believe it, or want to hear it._

May felt a familiar weight in her chest. He was terribly worried, and she could tell by the sound of his voice, and it definitely wasn't that she didn't care. She still cared quite deeply herself – but too much had changed. The shift of the dynamic of their relationship after Bahrain was too drastic. So now when she heard his concern she felt at first a firing of concern in reciprocation, and then a blur of nothingness, a pain of being unable to change how it was he was feeling. Inability to reach out. Helplessness. 

_Things are tough right now, but I told you we would get through this. And we will. I promise. Just...come home, Melinda. Please._ Click.

The woman in the phone was now asking her if she wanted to replay or delete the message, and Melinda just sat there with the phone pressed to her ear, listening to nothing. Drew was so determined to fix their marriage. To fix, what May already decided, was beyond repair. Too many pieces were missing from their relationship – due to pieces missing from her. 

She had told him she wanted a divorce, and even got him to sign the papers. And though they hadn't seen a court or a lawyer yet, Melinda was constantly faced with his attempts to change her mind. Drew still loved her. Her mind taunted her about it. _He loves you and you're choosing to turn yourself out in the cold._

But as far as Melinda was concerned, the only true healing that could be done – if any could be done at all – would only be successful alone. She couldn't afford emotionally to support another person. She couldn't be one equal half to a perfect pair when she felt less than human most days. 

May told herself time and time again, she didn't need to justify herself. Not to Drew, or her mother, or Phil Coulson – and certainly not to herself. If she wanted out, she would get out – she no longer saw it as a marriage, where all was fair and equal, but as a patient and her psychiatrist. 

Finally putting the phone down, May laced her hands together on her lap and waited before she listened to the next message. Yes, Drew had treated her like a patient since the incident – that's at least how she saw it. He may have loved her and did it with the best of intentions, but May couldn't shake the feeling of judgment whenever he looked at her. Pity. Sadness for what used to be. How she used to be.

How many times had she heard that since she left the field? It was a scorned and unsacred topic that May refused to even graze her mind over. It made her feel so much sudden guilt rising up in her stomach that she thought feebly it might swallow her and she would drown in it, helpless. How many times had they looked at her? Phil Coulson, Victoria Hand, Felix Blake, Isabelle Hartley, Maria Hill, with that same sense of pity in their eyes? That same _she's not how she used to be_ reflecting in the hesitant surface of their iris? 

When she first saw it in Drew, she wanted to believe it wasn't true. But then it happened time and time again. He's giving up on me, she had thought in horror – but before long she saw the truth for what it was. May had given up on herself, on their marriage, and now she was running from it. And content to run she was, she knew. She had thought accepting it would make her less guilty, but it seemed to have the opposite effect.

Finally feeling ready to listen to Phil's message, May dialed her voicemail again and listened to the second message. 

_May. Hi. It's Coulson. It's been a while since we talked, so...I figured I'd give you a buzz._ May leaned back in her chair with the phone to her ear, not cracking even a smirk despite the light airiness of her old friend's tone. It was pretty obvious that he was trying to be strong for both her and Andrew, close with them both as he was. _Listen...you didn't return my message the last time I called and I've just been wondering how you're doing, and how the Academy is treating you...remember? The exuberance of youth._

At this, she almost smiled, remembering foolish conversations they'd had so many times in the past.

 _I hope it's been good for you. Whoops, this message is too long. I'm not very good at leaving messages which is why I think you should just start picking up. Anyway, next time you're free, we should catch up a little. Maybe grab a coffee._ There was a silence that was obviously intentional. _...that was a joke. Anyway, give me a call. And oh, Melinda – If you're going to start sleeping in your office every night, you should at least get a cot or something. I hear IKEA has nice futons._ Click.

May laid her phone down and stared at it in disbelief as if a dirty look could be transferred straight to Phil's cell phone. He was certainly sharp – and if she couldn't get one over on him wit-wise before, she definitely couldn't now. In fact, she couldn't escape the fact that she was an open book to almost everyone who saw her.

The idea frightened her and brought a heavy sense of discomfort, but she felt it was true, deep in her chest where the feeling originated. Where she had once made a serious commitment to hiding her feelings, she felt far too tired to bother with that now. Besides, she had already deeply internalized the fact that everyone knew about Bahrain. Not about it the way she did – for it was all rumors and speculation to everyone else's ears – but they knew something horrible had gone down there. Enough to sink Melinda's career as a field agent, and now it was throwing her marriage into the same pit of quicksand. 

Melinda hated to let it win, but she had given up struggling against it. What she experienced there – things she saw every night when she closed her eyes – had her firmly in its grasp and she didn't think it was going to let go sometimes. Not, at least, until every ounce of breath had been squeezed out of her. 

As she got out of her chair and began picking through her bag, May found the stack of file folders – the dreadfully important ones – that were now wrinkly and tinted the color of a sandy beach from a flood of coffee. Just looking at them brought a familiar anxiety to flutter in her chest as she knew what was in them, stained or not. _Put the past away_ , she reminded herself, hearing the thought in Drew's voice as she began tucking them underneath all the clothes for now even if she knew she would be pouring over them again later. The covers of the folder felt rough now from the coffee, and May found her mind surfing back to the other night. _That girl._

Pulling her shirt off over her head, Melinda mused about the girl who had knocked over the coffee in the first place. She was an odd ball. First she comes out of nowhere – or, according to school records if they could be trusted, Sci-Tech – and enrolls in Melinda's classes. Then it seems she's seeing her everywhere. 

Whether she's lingering after class as if she's waiting for some kind of invitation, or loitering near May's office as she's entering it at the end of the day, she always seemed to be just around a corner. Watching her while she taught other classes on the shooting range, and then the cafe – where there were conveniently no other available spaces. 

May scoffed as she pulled on a pair of yoga pants. She's probably just heard the Cavalry stories, May assumed, and is about as curious as a media-hog of a news anchor is about a big murder case. People were always curious about the wrong things, and they always wanted to know things they were better off letting alone and not knowing.

Either way, the girl was showing at least some dedication to the program – that is, if she was still going to show up after the fiasco at the cafe. May cringed a little when she thought of it. She had probably been too hard on the girl – after all, despite the girl's determination to be a friendly individual towards someone like Melinda who was now often regarded as quite prickly, May could see her good intentions circling her like the serene glow of a halo. 

_Good intentions._ May mulled the idea over, wondering if they ever did any good, and if they did, what did it lead to? 

After all, they were only intentions – and if May had learned anything, it was that intentions hardly ever mattered. Hadn't she intended to come out of Bahrain unscathed? Intended to remain married for the rest of her days? Intended to go home three times this week already?

Either way, May wouldn't have been surprised if she had frightened off the curious, doe eyed stranger from her classes. This girl who was always eyeing her, as if for some glimpse of a secret she kept missing, had seen the truth behind Melinda – the coldness that she herself now felt resided there like an impenetrable wall of ice. 

May tucked her bag back under her desk and thought briefly about leaving her phone in her office. She didn't want to feel inclined to answer if Drew happened to call her again. But at the same time – she thought she'd better take it. 

As she locked up the door and started for the staff washroom, she found her mind was on that peculiar student of hers again. She wondered if she would be in class or not, considering the intensity of what had gone on the one and only time Melinda had seen her outside the classroom. 

The thoughts faded as Melinda determined that if the girl _intended_ to show up, she would be there. Or then again, maybe she wouldn't.


	9. Chapter 9

Skye awoke the next morning to find that she was late for her Yoga and Meditation class. She groaned and flopped back in her pillow when she realized it was half over before she had even risen, understanding with a fleeting sense of passing distress that she couldn't make it even if she'd tried. 

There had been a note left on her phone, written in pen on a pink sticky note, that read: 

_Good morning! I set an alarm to make sure you get to class on time. Your lunch is in the fridge. See you this evening!  
Love Jemma_

Jemma, who had left hours before for her much more early bird classes, had left the sweet note and she did set an alarm, Skye noted – but instead of setting in for 9am she had set it for 9pm. When she discovered it, Skye nearly burst out laughing – for a child prodigy, her best friend was an awful scatterbrained idiot sometimes. In the best way possible, of course, she made sure to note. 

But now it was 10:30, and Skye was alone in the apartment with no other classes until Advanced Weaponry at 2:30. She had mixed feelings about missing her class – typically, she didn't want to miss any classes with May, but after what had transpired she wasn't sure anymore. 

Jemma had been right – Skye needed to step back, take a breath, and analyze what she was getting herself into. Did she still want to pursue any of this knowing that May was married? Did she want to get into this for a friendship? Would she be able to even be that much without being driven crazy by jealousy? Would May even let her in enough for that? 

After all, the woman hadn't seemed exactly open to Skye's advances, despite what her intentions had been before the wedlock discovery. And Skye personally wasn't in too much of a rush to see her again, at least not until she had worked out the kinks in her own mind that were rupturing her thoughts. 

Climbing out of bed, Skye stretched and yawned, feeling very rejuvenated. She only vaguely remembered being woken up on the couch the night before to be ushered off to the sack – after she had collapsed there in her slump of post-sex bliss. 

This thought made her smile, as she remembered last night. Some heat moved from within her and flocked towards her face. Jemma was so cute, she found herself thinking as she reached the kitchen, her mind lost in the thrills of the spontaneous romp. If the memories weren't so vivid – and amazing – her mind would have shrouded the entire circumstance in utter disbelief. 

Loitering idly around the kitchen, Skye wondered what she would do in the meantime. She glanced over one of Jemma's timetables that was hanging around. She had courses most of the day – shame, Skye thought, since it was Friday – but she was practically infamous for having a hectic academic life. That, and loving homework for some reason Skye couldn't quite grasp. 

Either way, it seemed Jemma had a free hour at 1pm – just around lunch time – where she wouldn't have another class until 2:30. The more she stared at the timetable, the more the crazy idea that was blossoming in her mind like a multifaceted, brightly colored flower grew. Perhaps she could go somewhere and grab a hot lunch, and then surprise her outside of her chemistry class. After all, the building and room number was listed right in front of her and she had plenty of time. 

The brunette continued to mull it over while she slapped together some toast and eggs for breakfast, her mind ticking in a similar fashion when she entered the shower. Sure, she had no idea what sort of plans Jemma may or may not have already made for lunch – with Fitz, or someone else. But isn't that just part of the long list of consequences, like a terms and conditions manual, that came along with any sort of surprise?

Shrugging off the inescapable feeling that something was going to go wrong – something she had to remind herself to do of late – Skye let the warm water cascade over her bare form and decided to go for it. What could it hurt? And maybe after they ate and finished classes for the day, she could get some advice on maybe returning to Sci-Tech. After all, it was certainly something to consider now. 

Skye took her time getting ready – it was a long way to one o'clock – allowing herself time to even blow dry and curl her hair. Ordinarily, she might not bother with this, but time seemed to be moving at a glacier's pace, and anything that would serve to murder a few minutes was ideal. 

It was around 12:15 when she was finally ready to leave the house, and she made sure to lock the door up behind her. Her school bag was slung over her shoulder so she could perhaps attend Advanced Weaponry at the appropriate time – even if she hadn't quite decided how willing she was to do that. 

Skye hiked to the same nearby cafe that she had had her unfortunate run in with Melinda – and while she would admit that she held her breath when she entered the double doors, she was pleased to report there was no sign of the stoic instructor anywhere inside. 

So far, so good, Skye had thought, somehow expecting that her memories of the evening before would be revisited with another ironic run in. But it seemed such odds weren't in the cards for her today – which was a blessing, as she'd always considered that without bad luck, she would have none at all. She strutted up to the counter and ordered soup – tomato for Jemma and chicken noodle for herself – and club sandwiches to go. 

While waiting for the food to be ready, Skye hovered about the counter, watching the people around her work. Some were hunched over a book, and there was a smaller group of people in the same area where the huge Sci-Tech group had been the night before. With that thought snaking about her brain, conjuring up the sights and smells of the busy room the night before, Skye found her deep brown eyes wandering towards the table where she had sat across from Melinda May. 

It was empty, and the chairs were neatly pushed in. There was no trace of the hot, caramel colored coffee anywhere on the table or floor now. It was as if the whole incident had been some unfortunate dream. _If only,_ Skye thought, still eating up the now pleasant table with her eyes. 

She could still see it vividly as it had been, coming back in bursts like flashing strobe lights inside her mind's eye. May sitting there, all quiet and focused. The file folders sitting before her that were successfully ruined by the end of the night. The dark hair that she had brushed out of her face with one graceful motion of her hand, the way her eyes had looked when she had glanced up at Skye's initial query, her firm yet polite declination of the coffee, the way that she had just – 

“Order number twelve!” 

The voice of the man behind the counter somehow sounded as if it had been shouted directly beside her ear, and she nearly leaped out of her skin. Turning around and feeling the desperate palpitations of her heart, Skye received her bag of items and thanked the worker with a smile she hoped was sweet, not betraying how totally exasperated she had been in that brief instance.

Package safely tucked in her arms, Skye left the cafe almost immediately, still feeling the harrowing rhythm of her heart as if she had been running in place in the line up. She didn't glance back at the table as she fled. 

The brown paper bag she now clutched was comfortingly warm, and she felt herself beginning to calm down as she started down the sidewalk on the brief walk to campus. She had lost herself in her thoughts, it seemed. Melinda was equally as entrancing, Skye internalized with some heavy sense of disappointment, even in memory. 

The next memory to hit her was of the ring. The delicate sparkle under the light, as if to speak volumes about the endlessness of young love as it transferred itself down the long road to deep affection. A symbol of that deep affection. The more Skye thought it over, envisioning that modest but still gorgeous silver ring in her mind, the more she felt it was hollowing her out inside. 

Of course Melinda May would be taken, she thought. There's no way a woman that beautiful, that strong, straightforward, and caring would be single. A woman with that much life experience and layers to be worked through, would have someone special in her life without a doubt. The more she thought it over, the more she wondered how she had ever thought differently. 

Her feet moved without thought or supervision, as she continually thought over May and what it was that made her so magnetic. She still didn't have much of an answer for it – all she knew now was that maybe it wasn't her place to know anymore. 

This last thought hit her like a hard, open handed slap to the face, and she nearly absently walked into someone who had been walking towards her. A muttered apology later, and her mind was back on the same destructive path. It wasn't her place. Skye was having the creeping realization that she could never have May, as if the news of her being married had taken a day or so to sink in and truly become fact. 

She wished it was something her mind could just bounce off of. Jolt clean off of this news and come back to her unscathed, but it didn't appear to be progressing that easily. In a span of just a short while, Skye had found herself deeply interlocked in idea – fantasies, now – that the two of them could perhaps become close. 

In fact, her mind had become so caught up in everything that she was , that Skye found that she could still somehow feel the indentations of the woman's hard little hands on her wrists at the shooting range. Or recall the feeling of relaxation that came over her body just to watch May meditate, as if she could transfer tranquility like a heat source. She knew she could recognize the woman from nearly a mile away from the many times she spent stealing glances, running over the picture in her mind, or just blatantly staring – and she realized this rather quickly as her eyes snagged onto a familiar slender figure walking ahead of her in the distance. 

The shock of dark hair hanging straight, the small and slender but firm and built frame – Skye was almost certain it was her. Sure lots of Operations women could potentially fit such a description, but Skye felt it in the way her heart began to storm her chest and the sand-dry element to her tongue and her mouth. She knew it in the way the woman ahead of her walked. It spoke volumes and Skye seemed to feel it was the truth as every molecule in her body seemed to tremble in response. 

_Well,_ Skye thought, feeling that odd sensation that she was being suspicious coming over her again like a cold chill, _only one way to know for sure._ She began to speed up a little.


	10. Chapter 10

The young hacker-turned-Operations still let herself filter among the other bodies that mulled along on the trek to campus so that she wouldn't be seen. She tried to slide up alongside May but there was either too many people in front of her, or not enough to give her any cover. She wanted to curse under her breath, and she wondered for a bitter, passing moment what she was even doing – but she let those thoughts of self scolding slide. They could come back and give her hers later. For now she was far too curious to simply let it go.

Would that always be her excuse, she found herself thinking, to never let it go? Too curious, too enraptured, too concerned, too, too, too...

As she got closer to the figure in question it seemed to grow increasingly obvious that it was truly May. If that was the case, it turns out the cards had changed yet again – everyday seemed to be more of a gamble, and she never truly knew what was going to be thrown at her. 

Before long, Skye's eyes captured the right angle, like a camera struggling desperately for the perfect shot. The woman turned her head just slightly to look at her arm – and to brush it off with one smooth hand, perhaps removing a stray hair or something – but the angling of her neck was just enough for Skye to get a minute glimpse of her profile. 

Skye felt her heart thudding prominently inside of her, some kind of orchestra within her chest, and she fought with herself on whether or not she should follow her. Of course, the obvious answer was no – but Skye was almost never about the obvious or the righteous, things that often went hand in hand. Rummaging in her pocket and glancing at her mobile, she saw that it was twenty minutes to one – and that if she lingered about too often she would be late to meet Jemma. 

This didn't seem to phase her, however, as the plans with Jemma were like the wind in their state of surprise – there one moment, gone the next, sometimes just enough of a reminder to gently ruffle her hair. She had no real commitment. Whether she showed or not, Jemma would be none the wiser. Skye knew this train of thought was going to wreck itself upon its tracks before long, but she went with it anyways, continuing to watch and follow her instructor from a distance. 

The closer she dared to near, the more sweaty her palms became. The bag of lunch items became an inescapable burden she no longer wanted to clutch, but she didn't dare ditch them or throw them out. After all, she might still be able to make it while still indulging in this guilty pleasure – this act of whatever it was she was doing – as she took in May's beauty like a poised but somehow abstract painting at a museum.

Before long, Melinda took a turn – she began to walk in another direction from the main Operations campus, taking a sharp left instead. This was Skye's moment, she realized quickly with a panic. Did she go now, follow May, and fulfill some purpose unbeknownst to her by doing so? Or did she do as she had intended that morning – to meet Jemma with lunch, and begin what would be the start of the long process of purging Melinda from her system?

Skye recognized that if she spent too much time in limbo, her thoughts scattered about like a room that hadn't been tidied in decades, she was going to lose sight of May. This thought seemed to strike off of something tender within her with bruise-leaving force, and she quickly hurried off on the left facing tangent that May had gone down without another thought. 

She was progressing to the school's gardens, Skye realized as she found herself walking along a long line of hedge and shrubs, a bank of beautiful flowers on the other side. SHIELD Academy did certainly have its aesthetic side, Skye remembered as she inhaled the romantically serene scent of the flowers that bloomed so carelessly in the spring around her. 

SHIELD – or so one of her professors had prattled on about in one of her first classes in Sci-Tech – had a policy that a nourishing and enriching, beautiful environment would add a lot to their students studies. So the place was all decked out – Skye knew it, even if she had only chose to visit there a couple of times – with everything someone could imagine to be gorgeous. 

Flowers and trees, plenty of foliage creating spots of shade in a large open field that people often used for picnics, and sometimes even for games of frisbee, soccer, or other sports or games. Benches ran amok around the territory, plenty of places to sit and study. There was a courtyard that had a coating of smooth, luscious marble underneath the feet, a dramatic fountain sitting as the centerpiece. It truly did look like some sort of dreamland that fairies would conjure up in a little girl's fairy tale, and so Skye often stayed away from it – she had long since abandoned fairy tales. 

But today it seemed nice, as the wind blew delicately through the trees. There was a group of students who appeared by their physique alone to be Operations playing a rowdy game of rugby in the middle of the field. This was also, Skye noted, one of the few places on or around campus that Operations and Sci-Tech willingly mingled without (too much) scrutiny; the little cafe where she had gotten their lunch being the only other spot which immediately came to mind.

There were some other students around; a couple of female students laughing at something displayed on one of the girls' phones, probably a private joke of some kind. Another girl lay comfortably in the shade of one of the beautiful trees, reading from a novel. A few other students were seated on the edge of the fountain, engaged in a conversation that seemed to have a high degree of debate involved. Typical Academy, Skye found herself thinking – and the place really was nice. Or maybe it was only because she was here. 

She, being Melinda May, who Skye still fruitlessly followed – unsure of her own motives as the soup in the bag in her arms seemed to grow cooler by the second. Skye was surprised to find the woman stop at the fountain, however, and take a seat. 

Panicked and feeling out in the open – after all, if she were to look up and so much as admire her surroundings, she would see her without a doubt – Skye hurried over to a bench to avoid detection. She whipped out her phone and pretended tenaciously to send a text, risking a glance up at May while she did so. She discovered that her instructor was doing the same thing. 

Melinda toyed with her mobile, feeling it in her hands like a blind person distinguishing its shape with her fingers. Hesitation, no, maybe obligation, rode on her features like distinctively detailed face paint as she stared blankly at the screen. Was she waiting for a phone call? A text? Or was she wondering if she had what it took to make one? 

The small group of debaters were making an awful lot of ruckus – something about a bogus idea to prevent climate change – and Skye kept to the edge of her bench, trying to ignore their loudness and keep an eye on the target. 

May had picked her phone up in her hands and was typing something. It took only a few seconds for Skye to note it was a phone number of some kind, and then she held the phone to her ear. Her expression now was certainly one of obligation or responsibility. It was taught and tense, uncomfortable, for certain – and then her lips were moving. 

She must have been speaking awfully quiet to whoever it was she was phoning, Skye thought grimly. If only she could hear what the woman was saying. Was it her husband? A flash fire of hurt pride and jealousy that she almost didn't expect flared up from within her system like a hot splash of lava. It burned her insides to ash and heated her face and her hands to degrees difficult to manage. That, and also fueled her sudden desire to engage in the morally unthinkable. 

Skye hopped up from the bench and went over to the fountain. There was a good spot – a perfect spot, in fact, especially since one of the debaters had left for class and the other two had quieted down significantly as a result. 

One of the statues in the fountain – one that looked like a female warrior of some kind – jutted out of the fountain, extending herself over the bench and creating sort of a wall using her sword and shield, the latter which bore the SHIELD emblem. The figure was meant to represent Operations, while the Scientist-like figure on the opposite end resembled Sci-Tech, the large, spread eagle in the center meaning to be the whole of the organization. Her professor in first year had explained that too, not that Skye had cared too desperately about it at the time. Either way – this part of the statue seemed to be offering just what she needed. 

It wasn't a full, impenetrable wall by any means – the coverage just enough to separate the two people sitting on either side of it from the chest up – but that was all Skye needed. May was on one side of it, and she could occupy the other and maybe she could hear what sort of words she was saying. Discover what sort of person that had the power to make her speak. 

Skye knew it was wrong as she passed straight through Melinda's field of view, staring at her shoes and praying the woman didn't look up. She recognized with a burning sort of clarity that May would perhaps hate her even more than she already suspected was the case if she caught her eavesdropping, as she plopped herself down in the shelter of the warrior-woman. 

She knew it, and yet, her own mind screaming at her that it was beyond wrong didn't seem to falter her motives at all. She tried to zone out the hushed gurgling of the fountain behind her as she closed her eyes and listened. May's voice was low down – it seemed she was keeping it that way on purpose – but Skye was still able to decipher what at least May's half of the conversation was orating. 

“Don't give me that,” She was saying, her voice not sounding angry, however. Usually such a phrase was spoken in a seriously vengeful tone, or at least in Skye's experience both saying it and hearing it – you didn't usually call someone out on being full of shit in a happy tone. Sure, May didn't sound happy – but she was just as stern and indifferent as always. 

Then she continued, her voice still hushed as if to keep the conversation under wraps. This gave Skye a sinking pit of guilt in her stomach and she gripped onto her laptop bag to prevent being sucked in. She would stop soon, she promised herself – but she just wanted to hear a little more.

“I know, Phil. I know.” A silence. Then, “I know he's worried. You know I'm not good at that.” 

Her words lacked empathy, Skye was discovering, despite what the substance of the words were leaning towards. And who was Phil? Was that her husband? Then Skye thought one better, like a double take – no, the he, like a hidden third party to their conversation, an elephant in the room, most certainly had to be the man she was married to. 

“How did you know that?” Another break. Skye was holding her breath and she only sporadically became aware of it, trying to sneak in a quiet but agonized wheeze whenever she did. “That I was sleeping in my office, Phil. Don't play dumb with me.”

This sentence entered Skye's ear and exited the other, without fully striking her brain until it was already gone. She felt some abysmal horror setting over her system like a deep frost. _Sleeping in her office? She does that?_ The thought scared her a little, she found, because it was the utmost of instability – who does that, after all? Especially someone who Skye had just learned was married? Someone who seemed to be enjoying a pleasant and successful career at the academy? 

Skye swallowed. Her throat was dry and achy, mostly from internalizing the utter wrongness of what she was engaging in. And still she sat there. Thinking over and over again about the image of May – who was, as far as Skye was concerned at least, the picture of perfection – feeling the need to sleep in her office. 

Perhaps there was some underlying cause for why she did it – Skye would have taken anything in that moment beyond the harsh, sad reality that was dawning upon her. Something was wrong. Something was forcing her to cage herself in there at night, by herself – certainly, the young student's mind was running off with her thoughts, but it strangled her lungs until they were vacant of any air with the sadness she felt suddenly for this woman. 

Almost forgetting that she was supposed to be listening, Skye snapped herself out of her swiftly coursing thoughts that were like vicious river rapids, and tried to focus in again. But it seemed that if there was anything else to hear she had missed it. 

“I know,” May was saying, for what seemed the one hundredth time to Skye. Was this some kind of lecture? “I'll try to talk to him soon. Things are...out of control right now.” 

Skye found she felt even more lost than she did before listening in. Just another factor, she thought glumly, that made doing immoral things like this a lesson in karma. Now she was highly confused and not only about the state of her feelings for May – about the state of May's feelings entirely. 

_Her personal life is not your business nor your responsibility._ The thought was firm, definite, and incredibly true, and it popped up in her head in Jemma's sobering, rational voice. She knew it was true, and yet here she was, still wondering how she could – if there was anything at all she could – do to fix whatever was wrong. 

May continued her phone conversation. Her voice was hushed but there was something else in it now. A hurt she only embraced in private? An anxious desire to end the phone call? Sheer discomfort in its purest form? “I have a class now. Yeah, I'll meet you later.” 

And that was that. Skye assumed she had hung up, because if anything, that was the sort of hook someone used to get someone off the phone in a hurry. The young brunette sat there for a long time, clutching the long cold package of food on her lap as if to hold it close comfortingly. Her thoughts were a jumbled mess – some trying to scold her for what she had done and the obvious invasion of privacy that it was; others seeking answers about May's phone conversation that had seemed to only pose more endless questions; a few probing deep into Skye and trying to win a fight they were bound to lose as they attempted to rouse her feelings for May together and understand them. 

May didn't move for some minutes after getting off the phone. Skye still sat there, still as a statue and feeling suddenly very naked. May was no longer distracted by her phone and was still very much beside her – just on the other side of that statue whose battle hardened, brazen expression resembled the instructor's rather uncannily. 

After a time, Skye figured she had to get out of there – and fast. Her guilt was getting dangerously close to swallowing her, nipping at her heels like a pack of starving wolves. Before long she would have to surrender to it. Before she could get up, however, it seemed May was more willing to make that move for her. 

The brunette sat on the bench in a state of sordid stillness, as macabre as the statues behind and around her in the fountain, and watched Melinda May walk away – out just the same way she had come in. And in that moment, Skye saw a lot of things. A stark contrast to the pastel colors of the flowers that surrounded her exit, like an ink spot in her dark clothes and black cascading hair. She saw a formidable, storm of a force, who strutted onward and stood up straight despite the burdens that might have been sitting on her shoulders and hanging from her arms like undetectable demons. 

But most of all, what the student saw in the teacher that moment, was a distinct sense of vulnerability. It projected around her in seemingly invisible waves, like whispers of heat or some kind of superstitious aura. It was both there and not; an invisible entity as mysterious as a breath of wind and yet suddenly, forcibly, as obvious as a sharp right hook to the jaw. 

It was there, and Skye was thinking, as she watched the woman slowly walk away and disappear from her view, that she had to get to the bottom of it. _I can't let her go._ Her mind was her own again, the thought distinctly her's and absolutely overtaking her brain with the force of a dictator – _I can't let her go._

It was the last comprehensible thought she could remember having before rushing off from the garden in a hurry of blurred, confused fluster. The food was cold and Jemma would probably be gone from her class by now, but Skye still ran to the Sci-Tech half of campus. Something was spurring her on now – she wasn't ready to end this, that much was clear. But either way, she had to get to Simmons – she had to get to Jemma and maybe, just maybe, the biochem student could help her get to the bottom of what she was getting herself into – if there was a bottom to it at all. 

_I can't let her go._


	11. Chapter 11

The sky was just falling into the lovely blue-grey area of twilight as Jemma walked across the Sci-Tech campus on her way home to the apartment she and Skye now shared. Certainly, living in the dorms made the often exhausting ends of similar long days much more forgiving – but Jemma thought that the extra upkeep was worth it to live with Skye. 

Jemma thought fleetingly about her, adjusting the remarkable weight of her school bag onto two shoulders instead of one. She thought about Skye, and she thought about the night before – even alone, in the semi-darkness, she felt herself blushing immensely at just the memory of what had happened between them. The blushing, because surely it was all quite unexpected and scandalous, and in the living room to boot – but Jemma found that a sinking pang of regret didn't follow the encounter around like a lost puppy. 

After it had all been said and done and she had gotten in the shower, she remembered, her mind had tried to force itself to think other things. That the encounter was tasteless and it would make things tense and awkward. And surely, she had no idea if that would play out since she hadn't even seen Skye face to face since she had dragged the drugged-by-sleep roommate of her's from the couch to the bed the night before. 

So in reality, she thought tensely as she felt the cool air around her and her feet solidly trotting up the sidewalk, she had no idea how much truth there would be to her fears. Something inside of her, however, bore confidence like a shield – things hadn't been awkward after Skye had confessed her feelings, so why would they suddenly become uncomfortable just because the girls had chosen to consummate a little of that emotion? 

Either way, the exhausted scientist surmised as she was nearing her apartment, it was useless to worry about things. It would only give her wrinkles and a possibly shorter lifespan. And so, holding her confidence close like a crutch, Jemma arrived at her apartment and turned the knob. 

Wondering if her friend would even be in, Jemma closed the door softly behind her. The living room looked quiet, but from what she could tell there was a light on in the kitchen and so there must be some life around. 

Taking her time taking off her shoes, Jemma suddenly heard rustling and before long Skye had materialized in front of her as if from thin air. Jemma lined up one of her shoes on the mat in the corner, ignoring the fact that Skye's were splayed in the middle of the floor. “Oh. Hello Skye. I wasn't sure if you were in.” 

“I'm in,” Skye said, and her voice sounded a little peculiar. Jemma tossed her a look before wrestling off her other shoe, waiting for Skye's voice to resume. Before long, it did. “So, where've you been?” 

Jemma lined this shoe up alongside the other on the mat. “Oh, well, I had class much of the day today,” The exhausted scientist began, beginning to walk further through the living room and eventually into the kitchen. Skye followed, as Jemma prattled on. “Then I had a lab after that which took another three hours out of my day. Then I was with Fitz at his dorm room working on a joint assignment he and I are doing together. So needless to say, I am sufficiently exhausted after this day.”

Skye shot her a sympathetic glance, Jemma noted, as she began to get her mug down from the cupboard for tea. She was just reaching out to flick on the kettle when her friend piped up again – and the words that graced the room were as unpredictable as ever. 

“So...I guess that means you're totally _not_ down to go out drinking with me tonight?” 

Jemma stared at her friend incredulously, opened her mouth to chuckle, and then realized that Skye wasn't joking. In fact, by the starts of what appeared to be puppy dog eyes billowing in those dreamy brown iris' and the wan smile that crossed her features, she appeared to be rather serious. Jemma recoiled her hand from the kettle and set down the mug, not removing her stare from Skye. “Go out drinking...what in the world are you talking about?” 

“Wellll,” Skye began, extending the end syllable and starting to pace from the living room to the kitchen almost nervously as she spoke, “it _is_ Friday, Jemma.” 

Jemma bit her lip and mulled this over a moment. She realized, with an almost sheepish start, that she hadn't even noticed it was Friday. Not that that changed things – she was exhausted and could really use to get some rest. “Yes, well, you're right. It is Friday. But I – ”

“And I kind of have some stuff I want to talk to you about,” Skye, caught in the loop of her pacing like an orbit as Jemma idly stood by the counter and watched, resurfaced into the kitchen yet again. “And before you say it I know we can talk here – but they're the kinds of things I wanna talk about over drinks. Y'know?” 

Jemma laughed a little at this. Her friend was certainly up front about the things she wanted, and at a flash of the memories from the night before – _she was very up front indeed_ – Jemma forced herself to speak before she could get too flustered. “That's all well and fine, Skye, but you're Operations now! You'll surely never see the inside of the boiler room again. They'd never let you in.” 

“Maybe not,” Skye's voice was taking on a decidedly familiar tone of mischievousness, Jemma noticed, and she swallowed. “But that's not the only place we can live it up – come on Jemma! We're in New York. In fact, I know just the place...” 

And that was how Jemma found herself standing in front of _the Pyramid Nightclub & Lounge_ for the first time. She didn't know at that time that it wouldn't be her last visit by far – but she began to wonder sheepishly as she saw a flashing sign reading XXX on the front window of the place how she had winded up there at all. 

It was true, she realized with some nervous sense of woe – Skye could talk her into literally anything with that strong willed charisma and charm of hers. She had fully intended to spend the evening curled up on the couch in her pj's, with a cup of tea in one hand and her textbook on her lap – relaxing. An evening where she could catch up on some reading and studying, even if it was Friday night. 

But it had taken little to no effort for Skye to convince her – and so she had taken down a fancy, pretty dress from her closet instead of pajamas from her drawer. Instead of washing her face of the days troubles and grime, she applied make up and whipped her hair into fast curls, and then there they were. Out the door, on their way to Jemma-didn't-know-where. 

They climbed into a cab after Skye called for one, and after about a ten minute drive in slightly uncomfortable silence, they had arrived in front of the place and before long were heading towards the doors...and the double bouncers. One was an insanely tall and built, dark man in a black suit and dark shades. His face didn't look too friendly. The other was a woman – shorter but still quite built, with dark hair and wearing clothes in an identical style. Something about her face – or what Jemma could see of it – was strikingly familiar. 

The girls had to flash their ID's in order to gain any chance at entry, and Jemma found herself unable to breathe as the stern, unfriendly man glanced over her thin card and then stared her down. His watchful eye felt as though it had a weight to it, and it was driving her steadily into the floor below her. A stare like that one made Jemma feel as though she were underage, even if she was perfectly legal. 

After a long time of scrutinizing, the girls were allowed passage to the bar inside. Skye walked in long, fast paced strides, and Jemma had to run a little bit to catch up. “Skye...are we in a...in some kind of strip club?” She asked when she did catch up. 

Skye looked over at her friend with a grin that was equal parts mischief and satisfied glee, before shooting back with nothing more than a “relax, Jemma. It'll be fine. I've been here before.”

This was, truly, far more than the young scientist had bargained for – and as they entered the dim lounge, Jemma saw exactly what she had expected when she saw the front of the place. Tables filled with willing patrons, a bar that was equally as crowded, and scantily clad women serving as the entertainment. Exotic dancers elevated on a stage for all eyes to see, all skin and sparkles gleaming underneath a variety of lighting.

The music inside was loud – almost unbearably so, the bass pumping like an invasive heartbeat, and Jemma was tempted to just grapple onto her friend's elbow and pull them right back out the way they had come in. It wasn't that she was uncomfortable in establishments such as this one – she wasn't, entirely, when it came to bars and the like – but she had never been to an actual strip club before. 

Bars, pubs, and lounges were one thing – but this was something that had always made her starkly uncomfortable even just in ideology. Now that she was here she felt something about her stuck out like a sore thumb, but she remembered Skye – and what she had said. 

There were things on her mind, Jemma remembered as her friend ventured to the bar to get them drinks and Jemma located a rare vacant table on the floor. Things that she said she would have preferred to discuss over drinks. Sitting down, the biochemist tried to decipher Skye from the mess of people already at the bar, and found that she couldn't. What could be on her friend's mind now, she wondered? Was it that married professor again?

Simmons didn't know – she had a firm idea that she was correct, but that didn't make it definite. But something like that – something that had seemed to have Skye so fully distressed, so fully wound around its cruel finger, wasn't something that would go away so easily. 

And so, Jemma determined, she was here for Skye – whether she liked the place or not, and despite how awkward it made her, she was here for Skye. She was here for her friend, and so she would have to grin and bear it until they could return to the solitude of their apartment. After, perhaps, bringing Skye peace of mind – or at least something remotely reminiscent to that. 

With this clear, articulate thought, Jemma felt somewhat satisfied – and then she spied Skye crossing the room towards her. Jemma tried to keep her eyes focused on her friend and away from the beautiful women at the front of the place, center stage, whom she felt guilty to even glance at. 

When Skye reached the table again, she sat and and placed a mojito down in front of the biochem student. Jemma found that her friend was all smiles – Simmons tried her best to mirror the sentiment and not let her true nervousness show – and once they were both settled in and sipping on their cocktails, Jemma was surprised to find she was the first one to speak. 

“So, what's so pressing that you'd drag me to a place like this?” Despite the bitterness that the scientist couldn't help feel surfaced slightly in her voice, she smiled on as perhaps some defense mechanism. “Is this about the married professor again?” 

Skye at first stared at her friend as if she were some kind of mysterious mind reader, and the next expression that Jemma could pick out in the dimness was one of knowing. _I suppose,_ she thought, _she knows just as well as I that it's obvious._

“Well there's been some...interesting developments.” Skye said, glancing down and stirring the ice in her Purple Haze. 

There was a silence that followed Skye's opening sentence, and Jemma waded through its utter thickness, letting her eyes guiltily wander the room as she waited for some end to its permanence. The place was truly shameful, Jemma found, as she admired what was around her in some sense of unusual, guilty awe. There were poles all around a stage like area, and eager crowds of mostly men hovered about, watching with baited breath and eager eyes that could be felt in the air like a haze. There were a few girls performing now that she could see. The lights were dim, brightly colored in some spots of the lounge – Simmons found there was a red light just nearby their table that cast a little of its crimson light onto their table and drinks. 

“I did something I shouldn't have.” Suddenly, Skye was talking again, and Jemma's eyes shot back to her friend across from her with alarming speed. All the while the bass rumbled and thumped the place like a thousand fists knocking on the walls and floor. “Today I sort of...followed her.” 

“You what?” Jemma was having a bit of trouble hearing Skye over the disruptive music, and now it became obvious from the additional noise that the lines of drunk men not too far from where they sat were going wild. Like a pack of wild apes, Jemma found, and she took a long haul from her drink – perhaps too long – while eyeing them slightly uncomfortably. It seemed more women were making their appearance onto the stage. 

“Today, I...I sorta saw her walking on campus and I followed her.” Skye had raised her voice to a significantly higher degree to accommodate the increase in noise. She was looking at the stage for a moment, but it didn't take her long to continue with her story that seemed to have her wound to utter distraction. “We ended up down in the gardens.” 

“Oh, the gardens are lovely.” Jemma responded, getting to the bottom ice of her drink a little faster than she somehow had expected and hoped. Her eyes, she also found, were misbehaving – they kept straying, as if with legs and minds of their own to operate, to the far left. The far left where the patrons continued to act like wild animals, ogling these women who had made themselves known in the minutes prior.

“Jemma, you're missing the point,” Skye reiterated, following up with a little chuckle. 

“Hmm?” Jemma caught her eyes wandering from her again and forced herself to stare Skye solidly in the face. “Oh, yes, I'm sorry. You followed her? Isn't that a little bit – ”

“Yeah, well, I already said I did something I shouldn't have, right?” Skye ran a hand over her forehead as if to catch the dampness of sweat there. Come to think of it, Jemma found herself realizing, the temperature in the establishment was beyond uncomfortably hot. “But that's not all. I did something even worse. I sat near her so I could sorta...listen to her phone conversation.”

Jemma gasped at this revelation. “Skye!” She exclaimed in a scolding tone, and Skye did nothing but grin sheepishly and hide her face behind her glass. This made Simmons smile tentatively – as much as she wanted to be a little more stern with her troublemaker friend about something like this – but before long she was fighting off laughter, anyway. “You must know how wrong that is. Please tell me you at least know, even if it isn't going to stop you.” 

Skye laughed a little bit. “I know it's wrong. I just. I couldn't fight my curiosity, and well...now I know a little too much.” Skye took a sip from her drink and then swallowed it in a rush so that she could add, “and I swear to god Jemma, don't give me some “curiosity killed the cat” cliché or something.” 

Jemma hadn't been going to, but something about the playful stab made her wish she had thought of it first just to get under Skye's skin in that way only best friends achieve. Suddenly the noise in the building went up a notch – and Jemma couldn't keep the leash on her wandering pupils once again. 

They darted over to the stage like a reflex, and she could hear that Skye was talking in the background but couldn't force her mind to focus on the words. The noise swirled around her head, stealing her ability to concentrate into its void. Another woman had come into view among the gaggle of others - one who seemed immediately and infinitely different than her other dancer counterparts – and when Jemma saw her she felt something inside of her give.


	12. Chapter 12

It was like a carefully placed twig that had always existed peacefully inside her body had suddenly snapped. The feeling was so sudden and intense it was as if she truly heard the crisp, clean little crack of something breaking, and yet, there was no pain. Jemma felt her heart speeding up as she watched this woman take slow steps across the stage, not seeming at all bashful despite how little she wore. 

Sparkles shone and glittered spectacularly under an intense light, and Jemma found her mind once again lost in the magic of the forth of July fireworks. This is what she was to Jemma in that moment, more than spectacular. Her hair was long and blond, cascading in fierce curls down her back like rings of pure gold. She was tall and slender, with a body that was incredibly fit, skin appearing smooth and flawless – truly some kind of goddess had descended into the building. 

Jemma's hands were hot and clammy, suddenly, as she became more and more painfully aware that she was staring and that she wasn't listening. She wrapped them around her glass and the coolness of the ice inside and the condensation seemed to have a sobering effect on her mind. 

Suddenly, she was able to tune into Skye's voice as if the tempo of pure uproar simply didn't exist. It fell into the background as if it had never impeded her at all.

“Did you hear me? Jemma?” 

“No, I'm sorry,” Jemma responded, pushing her glass to the side of the counter where an equally as scantily clad waitress before long picked it up and carried it off. Both girls ordered more cocktails from her without any sort of hesitation, and when she was gone, they continued their conversation.“I find everything in here rather...distracting. Anyway, what was it that you said?” 

“I said she was talking to some guy on the phone named Phil, and it sounded like he was giving her some kind of lecture.” Skye was drawing doodles on the condensation of her nearly empty glass, her face twisted in a knot of deep introspection. “It was pretty weird honestly. I didn't really get what was going on. But then she said she was sleeping in her office.” 

After that last line, Skye stopped what she was doing and looked up into Jemma's eyes with a tint of pure horror in her gaze. “In her office, Jemma.” She reiterated with emphasis, as if the scientist didn't hear her the first time. “Who does that?” 

Jemma screwed up her face. “I'm...not sure. It could be for a lot of reasons, perhaps.” Came the vague response, and the brunette wrestled with her eyes and mind to keep them in the right place and focus. “But truthfully, that is a little unsettling...” 

“Exactly, right? That's what I thought. I mean, she could be......” 

Simmons' body was doing it again. Involuntary reactions, almost, as her sense of focus abandoned her in a way that she didn't think was possible. Surely, she had perhaps taken in the first drink of the evening a little too quickly to be good for her. The room was looking a little bit twitchy, but she knew the crazy lights, loud noises and general dimness could contribute to that just as easily as alcohol. 

Something about this woman was drawing her in. She was dancing now – truly a display of grace and poise, something she found she never before would have associated with a place like this. It was somewhere she had never had a desire to go for this particular reason. She had always thought places like this to be dismal and sad, and the women who worked in them to be the same – victims of a dirty industry. 

But here she was, utterly enraptured by this woman. And it was hardly for the amount of clothing she lacked, or for the provocative ways she moved her body, but for the simple beauty of her. The grace was astounding to Simmons, and it was a show all in itself. This woman wasn't some kind of victim, and nothing about her act portrayed this. 

Surely, the men who goggled over her certainly made the whole thing seem pigish, but Jemma found she could forget about them watching this woman dance. Every time she caught a glimpse of the woman's face, however minute, and her show stopping smile, Jemma felt a clenching inside her. It was like two giant hands gripping and wringing out her lungs. 

The airflow wanted to stop when the woman's eyes scanned the crowd. Her heart wanted to jump through her esophagus and emerge onto the table whenever her full head of curls was tossed. And Jemma felt her entire body fall cold like an ice bath in her veins when it seemed they caught eyes. She knew all too well it was probably meant for some well paying patron who was just beside, in front of, or behind her, but she couldn't ignore the full on, punch in the gut feeling she got when a wink was tossed out into the crowd. Tossed into the crowd, for certain, but the numbness of nervousness that spread throughout her stomach tried desperately to tell her it was just for her. 

What was it Skye had said, Jemma wondered, as she let her eyes unabashedly follow this stranger's movements now. She wrestled with her heavily distracted mind to remember. And when she did, it was like an electric shock, a jolt – _have you ever been drawn to someone for no reason?_

She thought with some sting of horror that she was caught in that particular tornado right that very moment – and then suddenly the waitress set down their drinks with a somehow grating clack onto their table and she was back to reality with an intense push. 

Skye was staring at her when the waitress left them, and Jemma found she was suddenly endlessly glad for the general darkness of the place. Heat was rising to her cheeks at an alarming rate the longer Skye stared at her, and before long the brunette spoke and broke the ice successfully. “Are you even listening?” 

“Yes,” Jemma forced out, playing with the ice in her drink idly. “Or, I'm trying. I'm sorry, love. Tell me again?” 

Skye mimicked the ice play, poking down with her straw gently, and then continued. “I was just speculating about what could be the cause of it. You think she has nowhere else to stay?”

“That would be odd, don't you think?” Jemma mused, beginning to feel the skin of her face was somewhat like cooling lava as she tried to keep her eyes away from the stage as much as the presence there utterly begged them to return. She swallowed, and upon finding out that her mouth and throat were both quite dry, took a sip of her fresh drink. “You did say she was married after all. Wouldn't it be a little odd if she had nowhere to go? Unless – ”

Jemma saw her own realization reflected back to her suddenly, on Skye's face. Jemma stole a quick glance at the stage and saw that the main act that had had her so in a stupor had vanished. This news filled her stomach with slowly sinking quicksand, a disappointment she couldn't place or pair with a reason. Not daring to lose herself in a whirlpool of thoughts again Jemma forced herself to focus on Skye – who seemed suddenly elated. 

“Unless – unless – oh my god!” Skye exclaimed. The girl had run through half of her drink already, Jemma noted – and thought maybe some of her sudden exuberance had something to do with the alcohol that flooded her veins. “Jemma, what if she's in some kind of trouble with her husband?” Skye's face had utterly lit up at the idea of such a misfortune. “That would explain why she wouldn't want to go home, and oh – on the phone, when she was on the phone, she was saying like I'll try to talk to him, and stuff like that...oh my god, that has to be it!” 

Skye's tipsy, enthusiastic rambling rolled to a stop the longer Jemma looked at her, and the biochem student assumed she could read the look she was giving her. At the next sentence uttered by her best friend, Simmons' was certain she had seen the big picture clearly through Jemma's eyes, like little windows to reality. 

“Okay, okay, I know...I'm jumping to some massive conclusions. But it makes sense, right? Doesn't it?” Skye's gaze was hopeful. “And you know, Jemma, I'm not happy that she could be going through something so horrible...that's not what I'm trying to say, I just – ”

“You seem awfully pleased with yourself, to me.” Jemma drank from her glass and watched a momentary flash of guilt jump across Skye's face like the shine of a headlight. There one moment, gone the next, and just the glimpse of it made Simmons feel bad that she'd said it. 

“I'm not, I'm not, really – I just...it feels like I finally have a chance.” Skye's voice was a little deflated now, as she made her way steadily to the bottom of her glass. “I have a chance, and I can't let her go.” The way she said it, it was like the release of a burden. A confession with enough weight for Simmons' to truly feel as it passed from the lips of her friend into the anonymous darkness of the lounge. “I thought maybe I could, you know, after I found out about it. But when I saw her today...something about her was just. Right. So right for me. I can't let her go, Jemma.” 

Something in her words struck a cord inside Jemma. It felt like flash fire across her skin, a little jolt of electricity to her heart. Enough to make it run a marathon. _I can't let her go._ Slowly, without detection, Simmons let her eyes wander back over to the stage and there were other girls now. Girls who were not, for some reason, anywhere near the utter perfection that one blond stranger had been. Simmons wondered with the pulsing, dull thud of disappointment in her chest if she'd ever see her again, and thought with some sense of harsh reality that she probably wouldn't. True beauty, she mused, could perhaps only be viewed once, and through a very brief window. 

“Say something...” Skye said, sliding her empty glass aside and folding her hands together on the table, staring at Jemma with a sense of hopeful expectancy shining in her eyes. “I just want someone to tell me if I'm being totally ridiculous or not.” 

Jemma smiled a little. It was slightly tight, a little forced, but she made it work anyway – truthfully, the power of the disappointment that wouldn't leave her system was too strong to allow any true smiles entry. “No, Skye, you're not. And if you can't let go of it, then well...what can I tell you besides that you should pursue it?” 

Jemma could tell by the lightening of Skye's expression, that she was saying the right things, and so she continued – continued in the same pattern, but with a concerned spin on it, a warning. “But I hope I don't have to tell you that going down this path with her...well, you might learn things you would have preferred to not know. And you may encounter disappointment if it doesn't go the way you're anticipating. I just want you to be weary of such things, alright? Diving into someone's personal life in such a way is hardly ever black and white. Nor is it easy.”

Skye nodded grimly, seeming to internalize everything Jemma had said – and she was glad for this, for she could only imagine how deeply this could tear her best friend up inside. Especially if this professor wanted nothing to do with her, or if she was quite happy in her marriage – any kind of curve ball could be thrown, and Simmons wanted Skye prepared. After a moderate amount of silence drifted by, Jemma placed a warm hand on Skye's folded ones in a gesture of serene gentleness. “Whatever happens – you can always come to me about it.” 

This drew a smile to Skye's face as if with a magic spell, and she moved her hands to sandwich Jemma's one hand in between both of her's. “And this is why you're the best best friend, Jemma Simmons.” 

“You're not too shabby yourself, there.” 

Both girls were smiling now, Jemma despite the stress that seemed to linger just on the brim of her thoughts like a storm waiting to move in and reek havoc. There was still no sign of the blond goddess that had so entangled her in something, and it was making the night seem long, and the alcohol more potent. Her mind was muddled as though she had indulged in far more than two cocktails, and before long that became the truth. 

The serious subject of Skye's dilemma was dropped, at least for that time – and the girls treated themselves to several more drinks while talking about much smaller matters. School, social lives (that were most lacking, Jemma found with some ounce of distant humor) and other such stories from the week. 

Despite how the time ticked onward, and despite how quickly their subjects changed and how light the conversation now was, Jemma couldn't escape the feeling that she had taken on all the weight that had been released from Skye during their deeper conversation. She felt as though her legs were made of led, her arms tapering around her knees. After drink number five it was difficult to hold her head up anymore. 

Something foul had attached itself to her the moment she caught eyes with that alluring woman, Jemma decided as they were on their way home. They chose to walk after having spent a hefty sum on drinks, and so they stumbled down the sidewalk in one another's arms. Something foul had jumped inside of her and hadn't released her yet. 

There was an unbearable hold on her by that woman she had never seen before. Jemma suddenly found, as she listened rather absently to the friend who clung to her shoulder laughing and sloppily telling a story, that she related to Skye. That in itself was a blow, because not too long ago she recalled scorning Skye's infatuation as silly. 

Now here she was, in a starkly similar predicament. It made her feel naked, exposed, vulnerable – she didn't want this burden that she had suddenly taken on. It wasn't something she had asked for, after all, she had enough trouble sorting out her feelings about Skye, a woman to whom she was very close, and who she knew incredibly well and liked even moreso. Now she had to figure out how she felt about someone who she had never even spoken to? 

_No_ , Jemma thought with an air of seriousness despite the giggles that emitted from her system as the two of them struggled in their drunkenness to unlock their apartment door, _this cannot happen._ She couldn't let something like this enter her system and light off enough fuses to utterly destroy her, the way the well placed ones were tearing Skye apart. 

When they got in it was nearing 1am, and the girls quickly dressed down, removing their make up and climbing into loose pajamas. It was utterly revitalizing, Jemma found, to get comfortable and brush her teeth and slip beneath cool sheets. It was almost refreshing and empowering enough, even in her intoxication that made her ceiling spin with vertigo, to help her believe that she could fight whatever attraction it was that kept sending her mind back to _the Pyramid._

As Skye turned out the light and climbed in beside her, Jemma was certain. She could let this go. It was attraction based on looks, shallow attraction, infatuation – and it was all silly. Freedom, she thought, could be achieved, and then she could go back to her daily life of equal parts worrying about school and worrying about Skye. 

Jemma was thinking that sleep would seize her soon, but that thought was completely turned on it's head when she felt the gentle grazing of lips on her jawline. Then a kiss. Then those wandering lips found Jemma's own, and she felt sleep flee her system in the face of hands sliding gently up her shirt. 

Feeling a shiver up her spine and the sensation of her nipples hardening into taught little balls, Jemma slid seamlessly into Skye's touch and kiss, realizing with a strange drunken certainty they would be making love again as unexpected as it was. Her resolve had faltered, however, she realized with a sense of disappointment, as her hands glided smoothly over her roommate's skin. 

That woman. It wasn't attraction based only on beauty. There was something there alongside it, something that was selling it as irresistible. It was unavoidable, like getting caught in the rain. She couldn't help but get utterly drenched, the essence of it soaking her to her very core. And hours later, after the shower ended and her clothes and hair had dried, she still felt it on her skin. It remained with her, just like she began to realize with horror, that this would. _Have you ever been drawn to someone for no reason?_

 _Yes_ , she answered only to herself, as she greedily devoured the kisses offered to her and fully indulged in the free exploration of Skye's hands. _Yes_ , she thought, as behind her closed eyelids she saw the tossing of snakes of blond hair, a mysterious yet highly charming smile, and that wink and the alluring eyes that had delivered it as such a devastatingly attractive blow. _Yes_. She saw it and she wrapped herself in both the memory and her roommate's body, crying out her pleasure unreservedly into the night.

_Yes, yes, yes._


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To anyone still following this fic - sorry about the late update - I feel it fair to inform you that I've recently started up university again for the fall and winter and therefore updates are likely to take a longer time than before to be posted. Thanks!

Bobbi Morse awoke the next morning feeling less than stellar. That much she admitted to herself when she looked in the mirror just after exiting her bedroom and the warm comfort of her bed. When she saw what were the starts of dark circles, their cause all but aided by the presence of make up residue, everything she had been working towards came full circle. 

Everything that would surely consummate and pay off soon. These late nights and equally as late mornings, the rawness of what she was engaging in, the danger it could potentially pose – all the little discomforts would disappear or make themselves worth it once this was all over. 

It was this thought and no others that graced her otherwise empty mind that morning that watered and allowed the starts of a smile to grow as she freshened up. Once the grime from the night before had vanished, she perhaps didn't look like a whole new woman, but she at least appeared to be in better shape. That was necessary – after all, today was debrief day. That only came once a week and she usually wanted to look her best for it. To prove she could and was handling this long term assignment, as she always did without cause for alarm. 

Determined to stay on her toes, Bobbi made her way to the kitchen of her apartment and checked the clock on the wall. It was just after eight am. While four hours of sleep wasn't something that was exactly good news, especially when she had to do it all again that night, she had endured less rest before and could more than likely handle it again. After some breakfast and a run, she surmised, she would look and feel mostly brand new for her debrief date with Maria Hill.

Mind set firmly on this thought and not letting go, Bobbi made tea, toast, eggs and sliced up some fruit. A bigger meal starting off than she usually chose to indulge in, but she ate every scrap of it anyway, her stomach emptier perhaps than she had given it credit for. 

Time seemed to be moving at lightning speed – one meal and a few pages of a newspaper later, and she grimly decided that she ought to skip the run so that she wouldn't be late. She had to meet Hill and the others around 11am, so it seemed a shower was all she was to allow herself refuge in before setting out and focusing sternly on the task at hand yet again. 

Bobbi loved exceptionally hot water in her showers. So much so that it would sting any cold skin almost to the point of pain – sensitive areas on her arms and her feet seemed to be the victims this time – but it didn't deter her from leaving the water as hot as she could stand. It really made showering feel worthwhile and made her feel clean, in a way that a lukewarm shower just couldn't. 

Something about it was innately satisfying – as if she could burn away her problems and the stresses of the day with that scalding beam of hot water blowing down from her shower head. And, face and head fully invested under this hot waterfall, Bobbi thought she heard a familiar sound. It was muffled and muddled by the sound of the water in her ears, but before long she recognized it to be the ringing of her cell. 

Sighing a little of her frustration to herself in the shower, the blond poked her head out of the curtain and found she was lucky enough at least to have laid her phone on the back of the toilet, which made it easy to access. 

The flashing phone screen told her it was Isabelle Hartley calling – and this was something that didn't surprise her in the least. Hartley was courteous – or mistrusting – enough to ensure using a phone call that Bobbi would be awake and ready to meet for debrief every Saturday. 

Rolling her eyes in a way that was truthfully much more playful than spiteful, Bobbi picked up and immediately put the device on speaker. Then she poked her head of dripping wet hair back in behind the curtain and waited for the familiar voice to inflate the room with its robust fullness. 

“Bobbi? You up?” 

“I am,” Bobbi replied, straining a little to hear her friend over the hissing water all around her. “And no thanks to the fun police here either. I've been up for a bit.” 

“Well, good, because Maria wants to meet with us earlier.” 

One sentence and it sparked a flare in Bobbi's stomach. “How much earlier are you – ”

“What's that noise?” Her voice, even beyond the water and the curtain, was distinctively disgruntled. “Are you in the shower?” 

“Yeah, I am. How much earlier are we talking, Izzy?” Truthfully, Bobbi wasn't worried – she could be out of the shower and the house in ten minutes if she really pushed herself. But the idea of having to do that wasn't exactly what she'd consider a desirable thing. 

“About...err...” A little pause and Bobbi could tell she was checking the time. “About a half hour's time, early. There's been some new developments regarding our guy. I've already been talking to Mack.” 

Bobbi shut off the water after washing copious amounts of conditioner out of her hair. Surely, a half an hour wasn't that bad. After all, it wasn't ten minutes – she could make it work, she surmised with some senselessness as she wrapped herself in a towel. “New developments?” 

“Yeah, you know how sketchily Hill words things. I have no idea what that means.” A chuckle, and then a continuation of serious small talk. “Either way, she wants us, and she wants us ASAP.” 

Scrubbing the towel along wet skin, Bobbi mulled quietly over what Izzy was saying and what that could entail. “Hmm. That is sketchy.” She responded with a sense of scrutiny as she tossed her hair into a towel and wrapped it up tight to dry it some. “Did something go wrong last night?” 

“Wrong? At the club? No,” Izzy sounded genuinely surprised that Bobbi had even said that, and after a momentary pause in which Bobbi grabbed her phone and exited into the hall in her towel, she continued. “Mack and I were on the door the whole night. He didn't come near the place. Mostly just drunk college students and desperados as usual.” 

Bobbi threw her phone on her bed and raked through her drawers and closet for some clothes while still conversing with Izzy on speaker. “Do you think he's onto us? He supposedly used to show up so frequently, doesn't it seem weird that we've been working this angle for two weeks and he hasn't shown his face?” 

Izzy seemed to be considering the validity of the point, or so Bobbi measured by the presence of a minute silence. “I don't know about that, Bob. He has no reason to suspect anything. The club is in full cooperation with SHIELD, so the familiar faces of the other workers are still around. Did you see anything from the floor? I know there were a lot of guys, yeah, but – ”

“Nope, nothing.” Bobbi's voice sounded a little wry as she quickly refreshed her memory of the night before. Her view from the pole studded stage – a place she had never imagined herself standing until Maria had volunteered her for the incredibly strange op. 

The ocean of men below her she had mostly recognized from other evenings at _The Pyramid_ , and while there were a few unfamiliar faces – two young women who sat near the back popped into her mind with no sense of hesitation – it was mostly the same old song and dance from the last two weeks. She had scanned the crowd of unreservedly excited faces, their mouths moving to form words she didn't care to pay attention to. The sweat rolling down some of their brows and trickling into starchy business suits with loosened ties. The mugshot of the man they hunted, the one Bobbi had memorized and practically etched into her brain, didn't match any of them. 

She scanned the crowds for him while she danced, the lewd performance an act to distract the dozens of potential causalities that sat around her in awe. The job gave her a unique – and unsuspicious vantage point for the op. The op that she was now tangled in.

“He wasn't there, Izzy. And besides, you know he wouldn't have gotten past you and Mack anyway. It's just a bit off putting that we set up this operation and suddenly this guy drops off the face of the earth.” Pulling herself into a shirt and being careful not to knock the towel that still encased her dripping hair off her head, Bobbi's mind remained unalterably invested in the night before. 

Beyond the sweating, coarse, sea of horny men who viewed her as strictly an object, there were two girls. From where Bobbi performed, on display and exposed, unknowingly for the goal of the mission, the greater good, she could see them towards the back. One of them – dressed in a way that made her appear very articulate and polite, stared hard in her direction. 

Her expression, Bobbi remembered, was some odd mix of off-put surprise, and some kind of enraptured awe. Perhaps, Bobbi thought now, a chuckle almost escaping, it was her first time in that kind of club. Either way – whoever the girl was and whatever her reason for coming – Bobbi had found something about her presence calming. Calming, and – 

“You still there?” 

“Yeah, sorry.” Bobbi replied, jumping into jeans and snapping out of the slight trance she had been lost in. “Just rushing around a bit. I hope the “developments” Hill has for us will shed some light on what this guy's thinking. I thought we'd have him in no time by doing this.” 

“Yeah, I hear you.” Izzy agreed. “Listen – just get down here as soon as you can. I get the feeling we have a lot to go over, and the sooner we see Hill the sooner we can maybe get some answers to these questions.” 

“You're right.” Bobbi said, taking the towel down from her hair and gently tousling and scrunching its wetness between slender fingers. It was still wet, but already beginning to curl nicely, she noted. Then, repeating herself, Bobbi made her way towards the phone as she felt their conversation was coming to a close. “You're right. The usual spot?” 

“You bet.” 

“I'll be there as soon as I can. Don't let Hill start without me!” 

The phone was silent now, Izzy having hung up, and the prevailing knowledge that she was alone in her apartment sunk in yet again. Sometimes, she mused, it was easy to forget you lived alone if you were on speaker phone with someone. It sounds like they're just beyond your shoulder all the while.

Bobbi was already betting that this was going to be an interesting debrief. And perhaps the most eventful yet. Usually the process was long and a little harrowing – after all, she was at the club working the angle on all of their targets regular nights, which was a whopping Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday cycle. Sometimes more. All of those days on the op, and merely one afternoon to regurgitate it all back to Maria Hill who didn't hesitate to pursue every detail in her ruthlessness. 

It was always long and ruthless, sure, she acknowledged as she hauled on a jacket and searched for her car keys in the jumble of her purse, but today was bound to be so much worse. Especially if the developments were bad news rather than good. Something told her they were – but she knew that nothing was one hundred percent accurate, not even gut instincts. 

Latching onto her keys, Bobbi wondered how long this would go on for, and how dangerous it would truly get. I mean surely, it was nothing to worry about – alongside herself she boasted an impeccable team of agents, Hartley and Mack among them, so taking him down once he got on the radar wouldn't be any sort of problem. 

But the danger was always present, and she seemed to feel it in this op more than others she had gone on. The whole place reeked of danger, from the darkness outside the building, to the neon flashing lights in the windows. Everything from the vacant, hungry wildness in the eyes of the men who crowded her like a pack of starving wolves to the drunken bar fights that often occurred outside, simply screamed danger. 

It was a different danger than the gunfights she had been exposed to. Different than being out in the middle of a harsh, unforgiving wilderness as a mission went south all around. Something about it was different. It was a hushed danger, one that was building in its tension. Building inside the darkness and the lights and the eyes and the blood, waiting at any moment to seize and overcome the entirety of _the Pyramid_ 's atmosphere and swallow everyone inside. 

Climbing into her car and starting the ignition with a sense of urgency to get to Hill and the others, Bobbi thought again fleetingly about the pair of girls she had seen the night before. Both of them truly appeared to be very clean and innocent, most certainly university students, but something about them stuck out incessantly in her mind. 

Especially the girl who had looked at her in that endlessly peculiar way, skewing her attention with just a glance. She did not fit in with the prevailing danger of the place. It looked like spikes, jagged like monster's teeth, were hanging over her head and would easily fall. The place corrupted those who hung around in its mouth too often. 

In that sense, Bobbi hoped to never see her return. After all, her gut feeling was telling her that things would get ugly quickly once they found her target, and any pent up ugliness and danger from the start of the op would only add more fuel to this fire. 

Bobbi Morse thought this with a deep and unusual connection inside herself, a solid click, and yet she knew that gut feelings weren't everything. She internalized this, absorbed it, understood it – and yet this was just a thought – a startlingly persuasive one – she had as she passed onto the freeway on the warpath for whatever answers she could get.


	14. Chapter 14

Skye's temples pulsed and ached when she awoke on Saturday morning. As she opened her eyes to the blinding light of morning – realizing with much chagrin as she did so that they had forgotten to shut their blind before bed – she took into account immediately how hungover she was. 

The night of debauchery that she had had to try so desperately to convince Simmons to engage in had been a success. So despite her dry mouth and aching head and pulsing eyes, Skye found herself boasting a tiny smile. Then she turned towards the other girl who was, surprisingly, still lying next to her. 

Typically, Jemma was an early riser, hungover or not, so Skye truly was a little shocked to find a warm body beside her. Even more surprised she was to discover that the Sci-Tech student was still slumbering peacefully, unknown yet to the world. 

Her back was turned to the hacktivist, and the blankets were only partially covering her as it seemed she pulled the bulk of her share over to her front so that she could huddle them close to her. Legs and waist remained encased inside, but Skye was faced with her bare shoulders and spine, cute little indentations of dimples making their existence known on her lower back. Her smooth skin was blindingly white in the pale morning light, and Skye admired her stillness for a time before moving in to wrap her arms about the other girl. 

Jemma shuffled and released a minute little groan when Skye made contact, but didn't stir beyond that. Not even a flicker of dark eyelashes, Skye noted, as she wreathed her arms greedily around her friend's waist. Heat seemed to roll off Jemma's sleeping form in waves as Skye held their bare bodies snugly together, and Skye nestled her face into the crook of her shoulder. 

Laying there, cuddling her best friend close, Skye found her mind fluttering backward into the night before. It hadn't been overly hard to convince Jemma to ditch studying in favor of partying. Much less difficult than she had initially been anticipating, anyway, and while she was certain her timid, often embarrassed friend wasn't quite prepared for _the Pyramid_ , she believed wholeheartedly that it was a good time regardless. 

Most importantly, Skye had gotten major issues out into the open. She confessed her lingering infatuation – bordering on obsession, she was beginning to think – and somehow even managed to get Jemma's blessing about it all. That in itself met all her goals – the freedom to attempt this pursuit of the ever elusive Melinda May, without having to try to hide it all the while. 

Jemma had seemed like a bit of a space case last night though, Skye recalled. It could have just been the effects of the alcohol working fast on her system, but it seemed like there was something else. The blond dancer – that was really all Skye could recall about her now – seemed to have had her friend in a tight trance. Hypnosis. 

With a little grin, Skye thought that maybe Jemma was just in awe and overwhelmed by everything she was seeing. After all, it wasn't Skye's first time at that particular joint, and she could remember the full and drowning extent of her embarrassment the first time she walked through the door. That was bound to be amplified with Jemma.

But even so, socially awkwardness aside, something else had seemed off. Skye felt herself frowning as she fought with her mind to wade through the drunkenness that coated the evening in a shroud to come up with some kind of answer. This woman had caught Jemma's attention for one reason or another. To the point where she was missing pieces of their conversation, and unable to focus her eyes into Skye's. 

It all had seemed a little peculiar at the time – after all, Skye was trying to release some very pressing issues from their prison deep inside her, where they relentlessly poisoned her. But now, Skye considered, it didn't seem all that strange. After all, she knew first hand that Jemma was smack dab in the middle of sexual experimentation – and this woman she had seemed so distracted by was probably just another manifestation of that. 

Finally, a theory that satisfied her. It made the most sense – it wasn't at all that Jemma was disinterested in what she was saying. It was just that her mind and body were straying, deviating from what she was used to indulging in and that was incredibly distracting.

They had been pretty drunk when they had gotten home, Skye remembered with some ounce of humor tickling her deep inside. It had taken them some time to get to their apartment in one piece and get situated once inside, but after that, things had seemed to fall into place normally. 

_Normally_. Skye's cheeks burned to a crispy degree at the thought that sliding into bed with Jemma and being able to so fully, so intimately make love to her may become the new norm for them. Simmons was so full of love and tender affections to give, Skye was beginning to understand, and touching the girl's body and bringing her to the height of pleasure the second time had somehow been even better than the first. 

It had still caught her off guard a little, but the tears Skye was beginning to think she would be able to get used to. It was still odd, certainly, and it struck her as such last night just as it had the first time, but it wasn't an unattractive display by any means. In fact, Skye had meant every word when she had told Jemma it was adorable. 

Skye's long trail of thoughts – from Melinda May and where that could go now, to the feel of Jemma's flawless skin beneath her fingertips – was broken as Jemma began to shift again. Skye ran her hand up and down her friend's soft side, hoping somehow, a little guiltily, that it would aid her in waking. 

Jemma shuffled a little more and Skye planted a kiss on the tip of her ear that poked shyly out of a mass of disheveled brown hair. The girl in her arms seemed to be waking, and truthfully, Skye couldn't have been more pleased – if she was going to have to lay in bed with a brutal hangover for a time, she would much rather do it with company so she wouldn't turn to stone from her boredom. 

Finally, Jemma spoke – but it was more of an incomprehensible noise than any sort of coherent word or phrase. 

Skye chuckled a little. She couldn't help it – she mirrored the sentiment fully, but found that the wellness of how things were going – or seemed like they could go – kept her hangover from making her grumpy. Jemma, however, might be a different story, she realized with some misplaced humor. 

“Bloody hell...” Jemma was muttering then, a croak releasing itself from a heavily exhausted frame. “What...oh my god...how much did I drink last night?” 

“I don't know,” Skye said, continuing the gentle motion of rubbing her hand along Jemma's smooth, bare side. “I was too drunk to count, probably.” 

“Bloody hell...” Simmons repeated, shuffling to sandwich the pillow into encasing her head. Skye's smile broadened as her friend's voice – that was significantly more muffled by the presence of a fat pillow – resound again. “Why is it so bright in here?” 

“The blind is open. We forgot to close it, or something. We were pretty loaded.” 

“I think I'm aware of that, yes.” 

Skye laughed again and Jemma made a sharp shift in movement, slamming their bodies together weakly. Skye assumed it was a feeble attempt at giving her a sharp, friendly nudge to cease her giggling. 

After a moment Jemma removed herself from the pillow sandwich, and rolled over to face Skye. The grumpy brunette tucked her face into the crook of Skye's neck and laid her arm across her waist, letting it hang slack. “I have never in my short life been so glad that it is Saturday.” 

Skye rubbed her hands over the smooth surface of Jemma's back and felt a contended sigh wrench its way out of her friend. “I bet. I'm pretty glad, too. But I think I might head over to school anyway.”

Jemma popped her head out from hiding and stared at Skye with the true, uncensored horror of someone who is completely caught off guard. “You? Going to school on a Saturday? Are you daft?” 

Skye stared back, wide eyed and grinning. “Oh. Well, you know, I thought maybe I could get a little time in at the shooting range, and – ”

“Oh, come off of it.” Simmons gave her another shove and Skye could see that she was grinning now, too. Her heart however, had started to speed a little. Things were in the open now, after last night. There was no more sneaking around or bullshit. Jemma knew everything – and Skye suddenly wasn't sure how ready she was to be such an open book, all of her desires and ambitions no longer hidden but harshly processed. “You're going to look for her...aren't you?” 

Skye gave a sort of disconcerting little shrug. “I dunno. Well. Since she's sleeping in her office apparently, I thought maybe she might be around.” 

Simmons continued to stare at her, and there was something present in her eyes that Skye couldn't quite pinpoint. It was like an elusive flicker of some unknown emotion, and it was gone just as suddenly as she had noticed it. Then, with a smile, Jemma said, “what are you plotting?”

Skye shrugged again, grinning despite herself, and then followed up with, “nothing, nothing.” Skye brushed a lock of messed hair away from Jemma's eyes and the other girl smiled sheepishly. “I might just see if she's around. Maybe I can strike up a conversation or something.” 

“Or are you just going to follow her again?” Jemma teased, nudging a little laugh out of Skye's system despite the color she felt fluttering to her cheeks now.

“I'm not a crazy stalker, Jemma.” Skye stated aloud then, wondering briefly – and guiltily – if she was saying it more to convince herself or her skeptic friend. “I just want to talk to her. Or something. If that's possible.” 

Jemma smiled at her, that sweet curve of the lips that Skye so endeared, and was perhaps readying herself for some other kind of snarky remark or comeback – but Skye found herself leaning in suddenly to capture those lips with her own. 

Jemma didn't make any show of resistance to the advance, and before long Skye felt the softness of Jemma's tongue grazing her own. The kiss lasted a short time before breaking, and neither girl said anything for a few moments. All that remained was a tingling sensation on Skye's lips, and a knotted up tension in her stomach, one that always seemed to reappear when she found herself close to Simmons. 

“Well, you know...” Skye found herself saying as she drew Simmons as close to her as possible, “I do want to go down to the Academy...but it's still pretty early...” 

She leaned in and started to brush a line of delicate kisses across the biochem student's neck, and Jemma released a trill of nervous laughter. “What...what are you driving at, exactly?”

Skye found herself smiling but pushed it away in the ambitions of planting more kisses on soft skin. Her hand ran its way from her back up to the back of Jemma's neck, and she seized her here, holding the squirmy girl close to her. “Well,” Skye said, muffled sounding against the other girl's skin, “I wouldn't mind...spending a little time with you here, first.” 

Jemma's voice was strained with the burden of her awkwardness. “Skye – it's...it's the middle of the day – ”

“No it isn't!” 

“Alright, but, it's so very bright in here, and I really should be studying – ”

“We can close the blind. If you want. But I kinda wanna see you.” 

Jemma emitted a shaky little sigh as Skye's hand once again descended from her neck straight down to her lower back. There it rested, feeling the gentle arching movement of her spine as Jemma's hips subconsciously bucked towards Skye, at the feeling of the latter girl's teeth on her earlobe.

The girls kissed again and Skye heard no more objections on the part of Jemma, and she felt the familiar heat of flash fire on her skin. But alongside the fire of passion was the fire of fury – at herself for what she was once again doing. 

Once again, she thought angrily, here she was – talking about her ambitions to see May, to meet with her, to create chemistry, to pursue her – and here she was again drawing Simmons into her arms and kissing her on the mouth and preparing to do perhaps much heavier things to her. Completely in vain.

It felt wrong to discuss this other woman with whom she was so engrossed while simultaneously feeling Jemma's soft skin beneath her lips. It filled her with self loathing, because all the time her mind extended outwards, reaching for thoughts of Melinda May, her hands reached out and touched these sensitive, receptive areas of Jemma; her lips, her breasts, her clit. Skye fully drowned herself in bitterness for her own perceived stupidity as all she heard in her mind was the voice of Melinda; that starchy, often cold, quiet tone, only slightly dulled as it was by Jemma's cries of pleasure beneath her. 

Most of all, Skye was angry because of uncertainty. Uncertainty was the devil in all things, she surmised, because here she was, doing all these guilt inducing things despite how she knew she felt about it deep down. How did she feel about Simmons? How did she feel about Melinda? These opposing things seemed to squabble and scuffle with one another deep in the recesses of her brain. 

She was entirely unsure about her feelings, or how things were going to work out. And despite the ambitions that circled her professor like a ring of vultures, Skye couldn't deny her feelings for Jemma still lingered, like the sweet, reminiscent scent of perfume the next morning. It was still there, she still desired this closeness, this intimacy, despite knowing that it might not work out between the two of them. 

Or maybe it would. This is simply the essence of uncertainty and its influence – she simply didn't know. She didn't know much of anything, it seemed, guilt seeping in through her skin and poisoning her veins like a toxin. She would never, could never hurt either of them on purpose – especially not Jemma, and yet...

This toxin she felt but attempted to ignore, as she chose to utterly turn off her thoughts that threatened to behead her with the entirety of their bitterness. Her brain sat inside her, like a mass of flesh that communicated to her no meaning, as she fully engrossed herself in the delicate moans that rolled off of Jemma's tongue and shattered the quiet morning silence of their bedroom. 

_Ignorance is bliss._


	15. Chapter 15

When Melinda May awoke, she was surrounded by darkness. It was early. Her frame was coated in sweat. She could feel her heart thudding dully in her chest, and it seemed these times where she awoke in blind panic were the only times in recent weeks she was aware the organ was still with her. 

It took her a moment to gather her bearings, and remember. She was on her couch in the home she shared with her husband – soon to be ex – Andrew Garner. She was not in Bahrain. This thought was the most important one of all, she knew. Not the ones that lingered outside the cage of her mind, clawing at her spirit from where they lurked. Threatening her with the malice of:

_...but you're home with him.  
...you're sleeping on the couch again.  
...it's Saturday which means you're stuck here.  
...you're never going to heal. Things will always be different._

These thoughts that threatened her small bubble of security remained outside, however as they tried to make her cave – at least for now. Because only one thought mattered to her battered mind, one thought that was a harsh reminder but harsh in the only way she knew she needed. 

_You are not in Bahrain._ She told herself this again and again, staring hard at the dark ceiling somewhere above her. She heard a car drive by the front of her house on the street just outside. _You are not in Bahrain._ Somewhere in her house, she could hear the distant, grounding tick of a clock on the wall. She focused on slowing her breathing, clenching a pillow between two hands. _You are not in Bahrain._

Sometimes it was worse. Sometimes she lay there for hours, clenching that pillow, telling herself things she knew she had long ago internalized, that didn't seem to help then anymore than they did before. She sweat enough for three athletic teams and stressed enough for equally as many university students. Sometimes it was better. The attack passed as quickly as it had preemptively jumped her, the dream fading like a scene from a movie she had long ago seen and didn't care to recall. 

It was bad that morning, the panic moving its way slowly through her like a fever that could only be sweat out. It tore its way through her mind and put her in both physical and mental agony. And so she grounded herself as best she could – depending on the precision of the ticking of the clock and the feeling of her pillow under her fingers; the sound of her breathing she attempted to steady and the motorists that occasionally graced her street outside with their presence. 

Beads of sweat rolled from her forehead and neck, standing out like fat tears, and before long she felt herself beginning to calm down. Her body eventually dried. Her arms and hands slowly released their insane grip on the pillow. Her thoughts became a coherent stream that drowned out the hollow horrors of her nightmare. 

This was part of the reason, she knew, as she pulled herself into a sitting position finally, that she couldn't share a bed with Andrew anymore. She didn't want him to see her like this, or quite frankly, to have him lie there with her as long as it took for her to feel remotely steady again, like she knew he would without complaint.

She couldn't force him through this private torture, and then, she knew, he didn't understand – he didn't understand at all, at least not beyond the way a doctor understands the symptoms associated with PTSD as read in a text. May went into the kitchen quietly, and poured herself a generous glass of water from the tap and drank all of it greedily. 

She didn't turn on a single light. May had memorized her house to the extent that she could navigate it in the epitome of blackness to avoid detection. The patterns of the floors, any and all obstructions and obstacles, it laced her mind like a map. She didn't want Andrew to wake, because she didn't want to attempt to force herself through the motions of seeing and speaking to him. It was a brutal reminder of what once was – and could have been – and she preferred to separate herself from it so as not to add more pain to her burden, and to his.

And so, in the darkness of roughly 5:45 am, Melinda May went about her business. She didn't eat – she wouldn't dare attempt it until some hours later, when the anxiety was further in her rear view mirror and her stomach was less rocky. 

Instead, she climbed her way up the stairs and hesitantly entered the bedroom she formerly shared with Andrew. He was slumbering peacefully on the bed, not a blanket, sheet or pillow disheveled. Lying on his back with his arms sprawled up above his head. May didn't have to have a flashlight to know that's exactly how he lay, for that was how he lay every night of their marriage. Except for those rare weeks, just before May had asked for a divorce, where he had lay on his side with one of his heavy arms about her waist. As if he could lose her in dreams and didn't want to risk it. 

Just being in the room was stifling to May. She felt smothered, like her lungs were closing. She knew Andrew was a deep sleeper – one of the deepest she'd ever known – but she still took extra care as she removed clothing from her dresser and retreated to their bathroom down the hall. 

After she had dressed herself and cleaned up – taking one solid, sordid look at herself in the mirror that she didn't quite like, the older woman mused – it was time to get out of the house. At least for a few hours. She could go for a run, maybe do some meditation or yoga, and then go into the Academy to her office. She had some papers to grade. There were always students at the range she could supervise or assist. Phil Coulson had been nagging her to meet for lunch. 

Satisfied that she had a full agenda for the day that would keep her away from this home that she regarded with as much discomfort as one would regard a crypt, May surmised that she would come back for the night. 

But a part of her brain that perhaps knew her better these days than she herself was willing to accept told her otherwise. It was in the jingle of her keys as she grabbed them hastily from the key rack, anticipating the moment she would crawl into the cold dampness of her SUV. It was in the way she so quietly shut the locked front door behind her so that the noise wouldn't wake Andrew, still sleeping upstairs. It was in the bag of freshly laundered clothes and other necessities that she threw into the back seat of her vehicle. She wouldn't be back, she knew, as she reversed carefully, soberly, out of their drive despite her cluttered frame of mind. She wouldn't be back – at least not that day. 

And that was fine, she told herself. As she always told herself. Andrew would understand – he was a very understanding man. That hadn't changed just because they soon would no longer be together. He understands. 

These thoughts were usually quite hollow, never as satisfying as she would have hoped. It was just something to tide her over, she surmised, as she drove down the street on her way to the Academy. Something to at least let her believe for a short time that things were going to get better. For most of the time, she wasn't entirely sure of that fact. 

The track at the Academy was empty when she got there, with the exception of a few early rising students. One who May recognized by face to be in one of her classes, but his name wouldn't have surfaced for the world. She usually forgot them; even the really well to do students who focused and applied themselves the best. 

She supposed, as she began her run with some sense of lethargy she hoped to shake, it was just something that didn't come naturally to her. And she hadn't been doing it very long – teaching, that is – so things were still a little awkward and clumsy at times. Things would get easier as she gained more experience, just as being a field agent had in time. 

If, she thought grimly, beginning to feel the dampness on her back after a couple of laps, she stuck around that long. Her lips pursed together when she thought of how she had left her long standing, successful career as a field agent. 

She loathed that decision – or perhaps, it was how others perceived her decision she loathed – because she knew deep down she had done it for good reasons. And if offered the chance, like she had been so many times since termination, she wouldn't go back. She couldn't. A flash of her nightmare from earlier in the morning attempted to seize her brain, and she shook it off, turning it into a momentary burst of speed instead.

Sufficiently awake and sweaty after her run, May took a shower in the locker room there and headed off to her office on foot once the hot water had washed away the morning's grime. She let her hair drip dry on the way, not caring to blow dry it or even put it up, as she checked her phone to see if there were any messages. The screen was empty, except for the reminder that it was now 7:00 am. She stopped into the cafe just off campus to get something for breakfast and then hoofed it again to the building that contained the one room she could call exclusively her own.

Her office was quiet, as usual – quiet and clean, and she dropped the bag she had taken from home on the floor beneath her desk, as always, and plopped down in the seat. _How is it,_ she thought as she rested her head momentarily back on the headrest, _that I've only been up for a few hours and I'm already exhausted?_

With some sense of distant numbness, she recalled the amount of times she had woken up last night. It had to have been twenty – no, more than twenty times. She would wake up – in a sweat that was either cold or hot, head pulsing, eyes begging to remain open, and she would check the clock on her phone. Sometimes it was almost an hour since she last checked, and she was lucky. Other times it was as little as six or seven minutes.

There was no winning, she had long ago accepted. Her sleep patterns seemed to get worse by the week, but never would she buckle over and start taking sleeping pills or any other ridiculous thing that had been suggested to her. 

Feeling she could quite possibly fall asleep if she didn't get active again, May reached for the large stack of papers to her left and started to read through them. It was probably one of her favorite aspects of being an instructor. Sure, the field work was great. She could teach her students to prepare for anything, and perhaps for things she herself hadn't been quite prepped for at their age. 

But the papers were the perfect escape. It allowed her into the minds of her students, something which was endlessly interesting, but it also allowed her to escape her own thoughts; the most ruthless of pursuers. Each day was a constant battle through a maze; as she tried to hide and avoid being alone with those senseless torturers. Papers were one way to throw them off her trail entirely. 

It was something tangible she could bury her mind into, to distract her – and so she leisurely went through them, taking her time – reading the really good ones twice. Applying her marks and her pointers, writing the grades down in a little black book. She ate what she had picked up at the cafe, only because she knew she had to, not because she was at all hungry or felt like eating. The hours sailed onward smoothly, and before long it was nearing noon – and therefore it was time to take a break. She crossed the room and opened her office door to let some air come through.

She had gotten through maybe ten papers – not too bad for a few hours work – and so she curled together her legs in her chair and closed her eyes. Meditation was always better than medication – at least in her mind. She had been a fan of it even before Bahrain, and she was sure she would be doing it well into old age, just like her mother before her. 

Time always sloppily blurred together when she meditated. She focused only on the sounds around her – which was usually nothing – and she was able to elevate her mind far above where any thoughts could reach her. It wasn't typically easy to break her out of this meditative bubble, but today something happened to bust her out of it rather easily.

Something behind her closed eyelids was active. Like a live wire – or that was the first thing that popped into her mind, a distraction that ultimately ruined her trance like calmness. A live wire, her mind told her, as her eyes shot around in the blackness behind her lids. A live wire, or a person. 

Taking the plunge, May opened her mouth without changing positions or even opening her eyes and pushed whatever words took the reins into the open: “I know you're there. You can come in.”


	16. Chapter 16

May waited – hushed breath, not moving, waiting to hear some ounce of sound reverberate as a reaction to her words. For a few seconds there was nothing and she thought perhaps that she could be wrong. But that doubt was momentary as she heard light, hesitant footsteps enter her office from the hall. 

“Sorry.” A voice. “I didn't want to disturb you or anything.” A familiar voice. So familiar that May broke the illusion of the meditation entirely by opening her eyes – and then she was confronted by an equally as familiar face. _That girl._

It was the girl from the cafe a few nights before. The one who had spilled coffee all over the Bahrain mission report, among other things. The one who had skirted off like someone was shooting bullets at her heels just after the spill. She was an odd ball, for certain, Melinda found herself thinking as she looked the girl over, and her name wasn't surfacing in her mind. Just as the name of the one on the track earlier that morning hadn't returned to her. 

May took her legs down from their crossed position and sat up straight. The girl was chewing on her lip and eyeing Melinda with some discomfort in the silence that prevailed in the room. Deciding that someone had to, May chose to speak once again. “Can I help you with something?” 

“No,” Was the immediate response, as instant as a hand recoiling from a hot stove element, and then she doubled back and stumbled over her words, replacing what she had said with the opposite. “ – well, I mean, yeah. I guess. There's just something I...how are you doing?” 

May stared at her with the same blank expression she had been told in the past was unnerving. This girl was here for something, Melinda was sure of it – but what that was still had yet to come to the light. “I'm fine.” May replied, despondent to the truth of that answer anymore, and then followed up briskly. “If you're here to apologize about the coffee, save yourself the grief. It's alright.”

There was no change in the girl's expression signifying that she had been right in her assumption. No shift to surprise, or sudden flash of recognition. The girl just hovered there, like some kind of delicate hummingbird, waiting for something else to happen. 

Then she spoke, in the same dodgey tone. “Well, I wasn't – I mean that's not why I came. But I am sorry. I don't mean I'm not sorry. I just wanted to know how you've been doing. It's weird to be here on a Saturday...right?” 

May cocked an eyebrow at the tremendously nervous girl whose name she still didn't remember. “Well, you're here too.” And that was that. 

The girl seemed to internalize this point, and a coy smirk crossed her features before she glanced at her feet and then back up at May. Odd bird, indeed. “Okay. Well. You're right. I just wanted to maybe hit the shooting range or something.”

“And you want my assistance?” This time, May was sure she had been correct in guessing the girl's motivation. But once again the expression didn't change – this had the experienced ex field agent feeling rather aloof. If she wasn't here because she needed help of some kind, and if she wasn't here to apologize, then why exactly was she here?

“Oh, no, agent Blake is down there.” Came the girl's definitive reply, as she wrung her hands together a little. The nervousness rolled from her in waves, like heat rising off a hot slab of pavement in Arizona heat. “I don't need any help though.” 

May stared at her a moment longer, and then let her eyes fall to a paper that was sitting in front of her. As she did this, the girl's voice resounded once again: “you're sure I'm not like, bothering you or something?” 

You are bothering me, May thought to herself grimly, but she wouldn't dare say it out loud. Especially since the girl seemed to have so much strain weighing this communication line down in the first place. Instead, she lifted her head and looked her over once again, fighting for that name she knew was buried in the recesses of her subconscious. “Well, why _are_ you here?” 

The sentence perhaps came out a little harsher than she intended, but she was in no better position to fix it now than she was to stop it in the first place. She sighed a little as she saw the girl squirm a little more intensely for a moment, but then she spoke. 

“I just...I have something I want to ask you. If you have time.”

“Sit down then, at least.” May said, as if it were a huge inconvenience that the girl was still hovering in the doorway. It was becoming more and more obvious to May that this was a challenge for this girl to come here and boldly walk in, and she wished to dispel any myths that may have been circulating about her hardness. Or perhaps they weren't myths at all. Either way, she, for some reason undecided, didn't want this girl in particular to think that of her. 

The brunette did as she was offered and took a seat on the edge of the chair across from May's desk. Melinda put the paper aside on the stack of others and watched the girl. Her eyes seemed to occasionally dart downwards, as if she were sneaking glances at Melinda's hands that were folded neatly now on the oak surface. 

Why, she had no idea. She fought the urge to look down at her own hands to see if anything was amiss, and forced herself to break the silence one more time. “What do you need?” 

“I'm pretty new to Operations,” The girl admitted, but Melinda already knew that. “And since the switch, I can't have agent Weaver – I had her when I was at Sci-Tech – as my S.O anymore.” 

May got a sickly feeling in her stomach, like its very lining was drooping and descending towards her toes. She suddenly thought she knew what the girl was driving at, and she could feel her disapproval rising despite the quicksand of her stomach. 

“So I need a new S.O, and I haven't been assigned yet, and I thought maybe...if you didn't mind that is, you could be my S.O.” The girl was glancing into May's eyes hopefully now, eyes that May knew in that moment looked like a brute's eyes; shallow and callous and distant. “I mean, you're like the best fighter ever, and I wouldn't mind learning martial arts – I hear you have lots of black belts. And learning to fly a plane would be pretty badass.” She cleared her throat a minute, as if to eradicate the presence of that last word and then continued. “useful, I mean. It would be useful. You're pretty amazing...” Her voice trailed again, and then she picked it up again in a rush. “At flying, I mean. So I hear. And fighting, and stuff, so maybe – ”

“No.” 

The girl stared her down, and for a moment it seemed those deep brown doe eyes didn't see Melinda at all. Instead, they bored through her into the wall behind her. But it didn't take long for the quick, quirky student to recover. Recover, and challenge. “What? Why not?” 

There was a spark of rebelliousness in her eyes – a bolt that was undeniably Melinda. The girl reminded May of herself so starkly, nakedly in that moment that it came as a kind of shock to her system. A shock to her system, and the pain of remembrance for a bygone era. It only increased her sudden need to push this girl as far away as possible. 

Melinda hated to listen to herself make excuses. There was no reason schedule wise why she couldn't take on the role of this girl's mentor – but _I'm not ready_ somehow would sound more pathetic, she imagined, out loud than it even did in her mind. “It's not a good idea.” Was all she said in the end, not breaking eye contact with the girl as much as her body pressed her to do so. 

The girl's expression stiffened even more, the rule breaker that was clearly in her standing out in her eyes and her lips even more now. “That's not a reason,” She pressed, her voice still calm if not a little skeptical. “It's a great idea – ”

“No, it isn't.” May insisted, hoping the girl would back down because she was in no position nor mood to do battle with her. She thought again of herself in her academy days. So proud, so energetic, so ambitious, so rebellious. Always ready for a fight, and anyone who would give her one. “I don't have the time to commit to that.” 

The girl seemed to know not what to say in that moment, but just as before, she gained her balance rather quickly. “It wouldn't take up too much time. I'm not that much of a handful – but it has to be you! I want to learn from the best.” 

May was sure the girl was much more of a handful than she let on, just from this impression alone. She shook her head at the still hopefully probing young woman. “No. That's my answer. You have plenty of other agents to choose from. Someone will take you on.” 

“But I don't want any of them,” The brunette persisted, “you're the best and don't pretend to be humble or something, because you know you are! I need that kind of grounding in my life right now. At least consider – ”

“No,” May stated again, the exact same word in the exact same tone. Her opinion hadn't changed, and her mind, it seemed, was panicking now and trying to overthrow her sense of control. She was barely anchored in her own life, and this student expected that having such an instability as her S.O would really bring her solid ground? “That's my only answer.”

May supposed, with an ounce of bitterness, that she had heard the stories. The Cavalry stories that always seemed to be exaggerated and dramatized further each time May caught wind of them. She despised them with her entire being, loathing it, but powerless to stop their circulation and the power it had on people's impression of her. She was the best to many, despite being only a small notch above the worst in her own mind most days. 

The girl seemed as though she would back down. But it was a temporary truce, it seemed. She got up from the seat and May watched her inch across the room. “Thanks for hearing me out,” She began, holding the door in one of her hands as she stood there. “But I'm not ready to change my mind just yet. And I bet I'll change yours.” 

The way the girl said it, it was almost like a threat – and then she was gone, like a whisper of wind. Gone as suddenly as she had left the cafe that night. Gone to such a clear trace that May would possibly believe herself if her mind told her she had never even come inside. 

May's heart was pounding in her chest, rattling her ribcage it seemed with a ferocity that could shatter the bone. Her hands were clammy. Of all the students who had asked her advice, asked her about the Cavalry, asked for her help, her guidance, her training – this was the first one to come right out and ask for something as big as S.O training. May had never expected to be faced with it, and now that she had been, it had shaken her to her core. 

_What was that?_ May found herself thinking, an image of the rebellious, still nameless girl gleaming in her mind. She was something else in her persistence, but there was another element to it. An element May wasn't sure she could pinpoint in that moment. 

Things, she began to think grimly, were only going to get more complicated with her – it was just a musing of her mind, a random thought ejected from the blur of the highway of thoughts on her brain stem. A musing, but one she could believe wholeheartedly, unabashedly and worriedly in, as she reached for a paper to correct with a hand she refused to acknowledge was trembling ever so faintly.


	17. Chapter 17

It was late again when Simmons got back to her apartment on Saturday night. She had spent the day with Fitz, studying and working their assignment into completion, and she felt that her energy was well spent as she unlocked the door to their apartment and let herself in.

It was dark inside, indicating perhaps that Skye wasn't home. Jemma assumed, as she closed the door behind her, that perhaps the girl had returned home at some point during the day and left again at a later time. Or perhaps she didn't come home at all since leaving. 

Jemma had laid in bed for quite some time after their unscrupulous, frivolous lovemaking during the early hours of that morning. She lay in the tangled bed sheets, the room that smelled faintly of their sweat and the stuffiness of nighttime not quite dissipated. Jemma had reclined there with her head on Skye's fluffy pillow thinking things over. 

She wondered about her and Skye, as her mind and body reeled from yet another spontaneous romp, and what was meant to become of it. Skye and she would sleep together – or had, three times in a rather short expanse of time – and then Skye would run off to pursue her married crush. 

It seemed a little bit jilting, that was for certain, and she wondered if the feeling that clenched inside of her was a flash of hot jealousy, the sharp pang of indifference or an uneasy washing of guilt. Whichever one it was, she didn't like the way it gripped her insides in such a steely manner. 

She didn't like it, and yet she lay there for quite some time mulling it over. Mulling over the facts and little truths to their lifestyle, contemplating Skye's success rate with this professor she was ogling, wondering if she herself was even really, truly interested in getting with Skye, or if it was just a bit of foolish envy that someone else was consuming some of the other girl's precious time. Whatever it was, it was sitting on her shoulders with the weight of a small child.

When her mind grazed the night before, at the club, everything that had happened before she crawled into bed with Skye came crashing down upon her like an ice cold wave. Each individual memory from the night that she could recall appeared in her mind like a momentary snapshot. _That woman._ Simmons tried to push the thoughts of the endearing blond dancer away as soon as they threatened to take her over and was to some extent successful, as it was the final push she needed to get out of bed and get herself ready for another long day. 

She had proceeded to shower, make breakfast and prepare her things for a long day of academics with Fitz, and these things were welcome distractions. They kept her thoughts – thoughts of the woman – away from her conscious flow as she went about the day's business. 

But now, as she returned to a dismal, quiet apartment, she was suddenly rather unsure that she would be able to escape them. It was a Saturday night. Skye was god knows where doing god knows what. Jemma was alone. All of these things seemed to be recipe for her own thoughts – and inevitably, the insecurities that came along with them – to eat away at her. 

She thought fleetingly about calling or texting Fitz and inviting him over to fill up the lonely spaces of her apartment, but she knew he would be resting now. Like she planned to. Sighing, the young genius left her school bag on a kitchen chair and got ready to steep herself some herbal tea. Something to relax her, and calm her jittery nerves. She wasn't sure of the origin of this weird nervousness, but she knew well enough that she wanted it to go. 

Jemma thought about turning on a movie, but she rejected that idea upon the reminiscence that Skye always picked out the movies. The Sci-Tech student had little to no movie zeal, with the exception of some – and so she usually just let her friend take the reigns. 

With that idea out the window, she simply flicked on the tube and let whatever was on play. Once she got her hot tea, she took a seat in the recliner in the intelligent looking, studious clothes she always wore and cradled the scalding mug. The TV prattled on in the background, but she wasn't listening. 

Simmons was engrossed thinking about _the Pyramid._ What had Skye been thinking, anyway, bringing her to such a place? Had she been trying to get her on the ropes on purpose, knowing what she presumably now did about Jemma's curiosity for the same sex? Or was it really a place she liked to hang out? 

Skye was full of unpredictable facts and answers, and while Jemma knew it was no good, she couldn't stop herself from speculating about it. Her mind revolved around that building like a gravitational orbit, and she thought again and again of the blond dancer. 

They had caught eyes, she was sure of it – and there was an itch deep within her, perhaps somewhere within her chest, nudging close to her heart. An itch that told her she could, anytime she desired, return to the location and find that woman again. 

The first time this thought crossed her mind it was met with a solid wall of hostility. As if she could ever show up to a place like that alone and not die of embarrassment, and besides – her morals rioted against everything the joint evidently stood for. 

This woman, however, had been alluring – on an entirely different level than the other women Jemma had seen mulling around. She had confidence. Purpose. Resolve beyond pleasing the pack of wild men nipping at her heels. Her eyes were glazed over all the time with an uncertain sort of focus, something tangible standing out in their shallow, light green surfaces. 

It had drawn Jemma in like nothing else ever had, and once again her mind poked away at what she thought had been a final, definitive decision. _You could still go down there._ Jemma chewed her lip. It was so wrong, she knew, as these women were heckled and treated like nothing more than a slab of meat. 

She knew she likely would never get the chance to meet this woman face to face, so what was the point? What was the point in making herself appear no better than those unruly apes looking for a good time? Her mind pined to see this woman again, and at the same time, it struggled against the prospects. Seeing her again might simply add more bricks to this formation. Give it form and shape. Obsession. 

_Have you ever been drawn to someone for no reason?_

Jemma swallowed. She could almost hear it, even beyond the brainless chatter of the TV, and it felt like a pebble descending sickeningly slowly into the pit of her stomach. What was the point in masking herself, in assimilating herself with such brutes as she witnessed the last time?

 _But she knows you're different._ The thought came as a whisper across her brain, covering her hotly debating thoughts with a cool, sobering sheet. Jemma remembered when the woman had found her in the crowd, somehow, among all those other people. How their eyes had snagged for one brutally long moment that felt strangely bittersweet. How she had coveted the feeling the woman's one winking cat's eye had given her, even if the gesture hadn't been meant for her exclusively.

She remembered all these things – how a strange communication line had somehow opened up momentarily between them – and her mind began to slowly change through some kind of indecisive metamorphosis.

She could go down. Maybe there was a chance she could engage this woman. A slim chance, but maybe one worth fighting for. If Skye could boldly go after her professor who she knew to be married, Jemma could surely go out on a limb and find this woman. She could watch her dance in a way she knew to be tasteful – from a distance, so as to admire the full extent of the woman's beauty, grace and talent. 

This indulgence wouldn't be the end of her. Sure, she had vowed almost as soon as she had left the night before that she would never go back – but now it seemed somehow inevitable. Simmons knew that no matter how she fought it, her tiredness wasn't accumulative enough to force down this desire she felt to see this woman again. To lay eyes on her would be salvation, to hear her voice speak words, simply bliss. 

Simmons realized with a sort of shock that her tea had gone stone cold. She had been sitting there far longer than she intended, debating things she wasn't even sure were worthy of stress. She didn't even take a sip of the tea, and she certainly wouldn't now. She reached out and laid the mug on the coffee table. 

Not much on this earth, she mused with a little humor, was powerful enough to make her neglect tea. As silly as the thought was, it was the one that seemed to turn the tide. The one that turned her brain from runny liquid to solid mass. If she could spend much more time than necessary sitting here trying to convince herself why it was wrong or a bad idea, those words obviously weren't doing their job in swaying her to their argument. 

If she could spend all that time trying to tell herself what she was feeling was bad, perhaps it truly wasn't. Sure, it didn't seem exactly good – but, Simmons thought with a little twinge of sweetness, perhaps it could be in time. Not good didn't always mean bad. She was on neutral ground right now – and if showing up tonight would bring her mind a little peace, so be it. Nobody ever had to know but her. Her, and perhaps the elusive blond goddess she sought.

Resolve clenched, Jemma got up off the couch and went to her room to get changed into something a little more appropriate to her plans. The school garb had to go, and she found a more casual dress to hug her figure in exchange.


	18. Chapter 18

Jemma hoped that Skye wouldn't come through the door as she was climbing into said dress, or as she applied a light film of make up in the mirror, or as she sprayed just a click of delicate perfume. If the other girl were to come home at that moment, she would have more than a little explaining to do, which is something she wanted to clearly avoid if possible. 

Before long she was ready, and the girl made sure to call a cab and lock the door behind her as she left. She was being discreet enough, and there would be time to come up with an excuse later. For now, she wanted to simply slip out, unnoticed, into a darker world she was much less acquainted with, having to answer to nobody but herself and her tantalizing inner desires. 

The cab ride was as short as she had remembered, and when it pulled up in front of _The Pyramid_ , a nervous pull in her stomach brought the reality of her situation flying back to a tangible level. She was here. No turning back now. Truthfully, Simmons knew as she paid the driver and stepped out onto the sidewalk, she wouldn't have changed her mind anyway. Her perseverance was strong, and she was quite frankly sick of being distracted by all this. The only way to clear her mind was to come back. 

Simmons started towards the entrance, taking note of a couple of men outside smoking. She could feel their eyes climbing her body like the cold, reptilian coiling of snakes, from her legs up her back, to the top of her head and back again. One of them whistled, causing Jemma to turn her head. 

They were grinning outwardly when she caught a glance. The one on the left repeated the same whistle and the other catcalled her, throwing a few profanities in there for good measure, and Jemma whirled her head away in disgust. 

The encounter had her heart racing as she reached the door, listening to their laughter echo behind her. _This it is, Jemma._ She told herself as she tried to steady her nerves. _You knew you were bound to encounter questionable behavior in a place like this._ Trying to straighten her expression for the bouncers, Jemma listened to the hollow thumping of her heart in her chest as the same one from the night before – the intimidating dark man in the even darker shades – looked her over in scrutiny. 

Before long she was given the freedom to pass and the timid girl did so, feeling once again like a deer in the headlights as she was faced with the clamor of the Pyramid. The bright lights, the loud music, the girls with their slender figures as they danced for another pack of lewd men. The faint smell of sweat, alcohol and cigarette smoke filtering through the air. 

Jemma found she was somehow even more complacent and uncomfortable than she had been the night she and Skye went together. It was always harder to do uncertain things alone. Jemma ventured to the bar and took a seat, ordering a beer and remaining sat there while she quietly nursed it. 

She could see all kinds of girls from this position. Tall, thin women with dark hair and probing eyes. Dazzling smiles and sparkles, girls with dark skin and full heads of hair. Shorter girls with lighter hair whose moves amazed. But no sign of this woman. This woman Jemma had so guiltily shown up to see. 

Jemma remained there by the bar, loitering, eyeing the stage in a way she hoped appeared to be jaded boredom or at least indifference. Anything but the anticipatory way in which she waited, trying to be patient, for the appearance of that familiar face. 

The girls were all alluring and beautiful, but none so much as the one she waited on. Jemma tried not to listen to a heated conversation that a man was having on his cell phone beside her that was bordering on argument. It was a difficult feat, since he had to practically shout over the music to be heard, and Simmons didn't dare turn her head. Surely, this wasn't the trashiest club she had seen or heard of – but a man who already seemed so fully peeved wasn't someone she wanted on her bad side. 

Jemma was hanging around for maybe an hour, maybe more, and just considering calling it quits when her eyes finally snagged onto what she had been waiting for. The release that came with it was unlike anything else. Just simply laying eyes on her had given form and fruition to all the pining she had done since her last look. 

The woman had taken to the stage with some of the other girls, but she easily, thought Jemma with her heart doing jumping jacks, stood out among them. Her hair was just the same, long and light and curling, cascading down her back in swirls. 

Jemma was hypnotized by her. Her sleek movements. Her focus. Her strength as she lifted her own weight with seemingly no difficulty. Her talent. Her beauty. All of it seemed to leave the young Brit in awe, as she held the neck of her beer bottle with a grip that was perhaps a little too hard and much too clammy. 

This woman seemed to have an ulterior motive. Something was different about her, beyond Jemma's admiration of the many qualities she put forward. She seemed to have some sort of goal firmly in her grasp. With every turn of her solid figure she scanned the crowd; whenever her face turned to those eager patrons below her with a dazzling smile, she did the same. 

Jemma liked to think, somewhere in the back of the mind where she let it ride without trying to either validate or disprove it, that this woman was looking for her. The thought – however true or untrue it could be, because Jemma had not even an inkling of a clue – conjured up some sort of tingling feeling inside of her. Something about this woman seeking her out turned her on undoubtedly, and she tried to ignore it as she continued to strangle her beer subconsciously. 

After getting a second beer, Jemma fled the bar, feeling that she was perhaps too conspicuous there. She didn't want anyone seeing her eyeing the blond woman in the intense way she knew she was and thinking that she was here for some lewd purpose. 

Nothing lewd was going on, she knew, besides of course the obvious ambiance of a strip club. Jemma had simply admired her greatly – even incredible sex appeal aside – and wanted to ease her mind by seeing her once more. Her motive was, Jemma knew, as innocent as it gets in a place like this. 

The quiet girl moved to a table against one of the walls, where she could exist in the shadows. Where she could still get what she came for, while separating herself from everything she hated about a place like this. 

Jemma drank her second beer for a long time, not knowing at the time that her drinking for the evening would end with that copper bottle. She spent a long time there that night, and she received several texts from Skye who she had assumed had returned home to find her mysteriously missing. 

Jemma simply told her that she was at the boiler room, hating to have to remove her eyes from this woman for even a moment to send a text. The excuse had taken no thought, conjuring itself out of midair like a magic spell. Skye seemed to buy it, however, and better yet, Jemma knew, she wouldn't be able to even catch her in a lie by showing up there herself – for Skye wasn't Sci-Tech anymore. 

Jemma was intrigued, as she looked up from her phone again, not only by this woman's intense aura of appeal, but forever by the extent of other things she seemed to offer. That gaze she cast out into the crowd like a fishing line. Something was distracting her, pulling her away from the present – the more she watched, the more curious she became. 

_Who are you?_ Jemma found herself thinking over and over again as this woman she ogled danced, gazed into the crowd, shed clothes like a second skin – _who are you?_

Jemma stayed at the club long hours, well into the hours after midnight, still receiving the occasional text from Skye. Jemma kept up with her facade – not liking to lie to her friend but not feeling as though she had any other choice. It was nearing 2am, and somehow not sleepy, Jemma sent a final goodbye text to her friend who was going to sleep. This wasn't out of character for her, at least, she thought – there had been a few instances in the past where she had remained at the boiler room nearly all hours of the night and Skye hadn't even questioned the validity of her whereabouts. 

Jemma sent the text, albeit somewhat guiltily, but this time when she looked up her mystery woman had vanished. This gave Simmons a start – where had she disappeared to so quickly? A heavy, sticky feeling rolled down the lining of her stomach like a layer of molasses. It was the trademark brand of disappointment. 

Despite being quite the container for liquor, having to drink quite a lot to ever get ill, Jemma was surprised to find she was laying down her half empty beer for fear of sickness. A wave of nausea had passed over her suddenly. Perhaps it was the late hour finally catching up to her and clunking her over the back of her head with its reality. Perhaps it was the hot, stifling atmosphere of the place. The reek. The girls dancing who never seemed to stop. The thump of the music. 

As she considered all the things that could stick out in the atmosphere to make her feel sickly, she realized with a harrowing sense of time wasted that she needed to get home, and stat. It was late, tomorrow was Sunday and she had studying and homework and a million other things to do – a million things, indeed, but despite the self loathing that was attempting to asphyxiate her, Jemma remained seated for another good twenty minutes. 

She wanted to make sure, she supposed hazily, that this woman was truly gone for good. She hadn't wanted to stay, and all the red flags jumping up in her mind made this signal clear to her, and yet she remained. Taking in the dark atmosphere that she felt was rejecting her more with each passing moment. 

When it seemed clear that the woman wasn't coming back – or when she had waited enough time that it seemed she could fight herself down enough to leave – Jemma got up from her seat on shaky knees. It was time to go home and get comfortable, and curl down in bed beside Skye. The thought was a warm one and it made her smile. 

Her desire to leave had gone up, and she supposed she felt somewhat better – but not exactly cleansed. She only wanted more of this woman. More she wasn't going to get, it seemed, and so clutching her disappointment close so others wouldn't see, Jemma made her way towards the exit. 

The young, perky scientist who was not so perky in those fatigued moments exited the club with ease and not so much as a backward glance. As soon as she was in the parking lot it seemed as though whatever hold the place had on her, like an element of horror, was released. 

The wave of nausea, however, returned with a vengeance, and she rested a hand against the cold side of the building a moment to catch her breath. She let the vertigo come round and managed to hold down her minute amount of alcohol. Once it had passed (and rather speedily, she was pleased to note) she dug in her purse for her phone to call a cab. 

While she rummaged around in it, being rather amazed at how quickly it could get lost somewhere at the bottom, Jemma heard a voice close to her that held some recognition. It was somehow vaguely familiar, like someone she had heard on the radio or on TV or simply in passing. 

“Well, you must be a lightweight.” 

Startled a little in the strange mood she was in, Jemma lifted her head to meet the perpetrator of the sentence. She still hadn't quite grasped her slender fingers around her phone. When she saw the face of the man speaking, the understanding of who he was came around just like her vertigo. Her eyes widened. Someone in passing. As in earlier this evening. In this very parking lot. 

There were no other faces that Jemma could see. It was just her and him, and this conjured up a little shock of panic to her system she couldn't quite trace. The anxious fluttering only increased as the stranger began to approach and she was still without her phone.

Jemma thought twice about it, and didn't answer him. As he got closer, he spoke again. 

“What's the matter? Too good for me?” 

Before long they were face to face and Jemma forced herself to look him in the eye as she digested the next sentence to escape his lips. “You look like the kinda girl who thinks she's too good for everybody.” 

Jemma put on her best poker face and stopped rummaging in her purse. Despite how her heart hammered with the fear that was slowly creeping up her spine like the cold touches of a dozen icy hands, she pressed on. Someone had to show up sooner or later. “Does that pick up line work often for you?” Starting into her purse again, she continued, trying to keep it casual. “And for your information I'm hardly a lightweight.” 

The man screwed up his face. “You look pretty sick after only two beers.” 

Jemma felt a deeper cold grip her core, like her stomach turning to solid ice as she realized this man had been eyeing her all along in the club. Keeping watch on her for when she would leave. The discomfort she felt was delving deep into her system now, and she could feel panic fighting fiercely to takeover the control panel in her brain. 

The man continued, coming closer another few steps. Jemma, in turn, like some sort of dance she hadn't intended on performing, took two backwards. Two that left her, for all intents and purposes, against the outside wall of the bar. “But if you insist you're such a hard drinker, we can go back in and test that theory.” 

Jemma swallowed, finding that her throat was incredibly dry and her nausea had increased tenfold. “No, no, I really should be getting – ”

“Come on,” The man insisted, moving in a little closer again and putting his two hands on the wall on either side of the girl's face as if to block her. She could feel her knees trembling and smell the heavy scent of booze on his breath, he was that close. “Or we could just skip that part and you can come with me. My car is just over there.” 

Jemma's initial feeling was rage, and it took momentary power over her intense panic. “Excuse me?” Jemma demanded indignantly, shrinking back from him as much as was possible and wondering about her success rate if she tried to duck and run. “Are you completely mad?” 

Her mistake realized, the young biochem student felt her fear return as his face crunched up into a scowl. He began to raise his voice and she hoped feebly that maybe it would draw some kind of attention. At this point she didn't care who. “Why are you even here then, huh? What's a slut like you doing at a place like this if you're not looking for some action? Huh?” 

Simmons flinched, and wondered if he seriously expected an answer as she felt the blood filtering to her face. Her lips, however, she kept firmly sealed. Her hands trembled and shook as she gripped onto her purse. She couldn't possibly shrink back any further and she felt the scratchy claws of brick on the back of her neck. 

When she didn't give him the response he seemed to be searching for, the entitled stranger only seemed to get more aggravated. His voice got just a little louder and much more accusatory with his next sentence, and Jemma shrunk back from it as if it were a physical blow, turning her face to the side. “You some kinda dyke or something?”

Jemma felt the color drain from her face and the weakness in her knees increase to an incredible degree. _Oh god._ Feeling in her heart that was heavy with the drama of the situation, Simmons suddenly couldn't escape the notion that things were about to get ugly. She conjured a voice somehow from the depths of the fearsome void that had opened up inside her. “How dare y – ”

“Here to see the girls, you fucking lezzie?” Jemma was horrified both suddenly and expectantly, almost for her life, as this man's anger seemed to only rise further. The potential for him to get violent seemed to be on the rise and she shut her eyes tightly, somehow regretting having lied to Skye about her location. 

“Leave me alone.” Jemma said somehow calmly and soberly, hugging her purse tighter to her middle for some kind of attempt at a shield. “I do not wish to speak with you and I never did. Leave me alone.” 

The man had a vile smirk on his features now and it filled the girl with an even more potent sense of dread. “You know, I got something that I bet would be a good cure for dykes...” 

“No, stop it!” Jemma found she was practically shouting now, shrill and weak with her terror. Her sense of being calm had left her entirely, feeling raw, naked and vulnerable outside the strange bar. 

“Come on baby – ”

“No – let go of me – ”

He had gripped onto one of Jemma's forearms with a large hand, and she realized with a dismal sense of disappointment that her window to duck and run was through. His hand was like a vicegrip on her arm, pain shooting through her muscle there as he attempted to pull her towards him. 

Struggling and pulling away, ready to fight with everything she had to deter him, disgusted by the drunken laughter that now poured out of him, Jemma wondered vaguely what would transpire – at least until she heard an intervening voice. 

A hope, a beacon. An interruption. A challenge to this man who thought it was fine to take what he wanted despite her protests. A chance for the night to take a smooth turn, instead of continuing over the edge of the waterfall it seemed to before having been gunning for. Without a doubt, it was the most beautiful voice Jemma had ever heard in any particular instance. 

“Did you not hear her the first time or do you need a reminder of what no means?”


	19. Chapter 19

Jemma's head whirled towards the sound in time with her ignorant pursuer's, and Jemma experienced the full force of shock in that moment as she saw who it was who was not only standing in front of her, but intervening into her unfortunate situation. 

_It's her._

Jemma could feel the man backing down a little already with the presence of the blond dancer. Having a witness – and a brave one willing to get between them to boot – made his task much more difficult. Jemma was able to snatch her arm back with an air of irritability and step back from the stranger. 

The bombardment of emotions her body now felt was a raw and confusing cocktail. Her fear remained – she felt it would until this persistent idiot was out of her sight – but now she felt a strike of awe like a lightning bolt. 

This beautiful woman – the very person she had ventured out to admire – was here. Speaking. Getting involved. Protecting her from a vile man's intentions. It seemed too good to be true and yet she remained there no matter how much Simmons blinked; and not once did she wake up in a cold sweat from a horrible dream. 

“Back off.” This woman's voice was the purest of intimidation. Jemma knew that she would certainly back down if she had been pitted against her. Two words, but they were powerful ones, and the strange woman began to approach the pair of them slowly. 

“Mind your own business, you bitch.” The man spat, taking another step towards Jemma that she once again duly matched with a step away. “You don't wanna get involved.” 

“Oh, but I do.” Came the quick reply. Confidence. There was not a single ounce of hesitation in the blond's words as a smile crossed her features. “In fact, I already am. Leave this girl alone. That's your last warning.” 

The man turned fully towards Jemma's admiration now, and Simmons took the opportunity to move even further away from him. The blond approached him as he did her, meeting him face to face before long. With the aid of the heels she wore, she jutted up a few inches taller than him in height. 

“Or what, bitch? What's a whore like you gonna do, huh?” 

The woman smiled, and a little chuckled escaped her smooth lips. Jemma found her prowess utterly incredible. She had no fear whatsoever in the face of this man who had seemed such a danger to Jemma in the minutes before. “Let's just say you don't want to find out. Get out of here.” 

They remained locked in some sort of starting contest for a time, and Jemma could hear her heartbeat echoing in her system like a thunderous rain storm. What was going to happen? Were they going to fight? Would he back down? Would she? It all seemed very unpredictable to Jemma who hovered in the background, thankful yet frightened. Shaken, but relieved. Otherwise, completely flabbergasted at the amazing turn that had been born out of a not so fortunate series of events. 

Before long, the man stepped off, spitting on the ground in arrogance at the woman's feet before turning and shuffling off into the night. He muttered as he pushed off towards a line of vehicles, and Jemma thought she heard bitch again but she couldn't be sure. 

As he got to his car he shouted over to the women in what seemed to be a last ditch attempt at asserting himself. “I didn't want that ugly bitch anyway!” Then promptly, as if it had been his plan the entire time, the man slammed the driver's side door and started up the ignition. 

Before long he was firing out of the parking lot at a speed fueled by the peak of rage, screeching his tires as he made it to the road successfully. 

Jemma's relief was immaculate just upon seeing him leave. The danger drained from her body through her feet and into the ground, where she promptly forgot about its existence. It was nothing more than a situation that could have potentially gone horribly – and now that it was over she felt she could relax just a little.

But then she remembered who it was that was standing just a meter or less away from her. Just a meter or less away, and her relaxation fled her entirely. A solid nervousness took its place, but not the same kind she had experienced when quite literally backed into a corner. It was innocent butterflies playing against the lining of her stomach. It was hands that trembled slightly at her sides. It was clamminess in those same palms. It was this woman, fully in form in front of her. 

After watching the car drive away pathetically, the woman spoke and Jemma thought she would freeze to the pavement beneath her and remain there for all eternity. Somehow she hadn't expected to hear the strong, sober voice directed at her, or thought that she would have snuck off before getting the chance. 

Either way, her heart skipped a beat and picked up the pace, making her feel as though this increased rate must be her new normal.

“It's funny,” The woman was saying, placing her hands firmly on her hips as she stared out towards the street where the perpetrator had disappeared. “When they want you, you're the most desirable thing they ever saw. But once you say no, you're an ugly bitch.” 

She laughed again and turned her focus from the road, to Jemma, as she turned around to face her. “Sorry about that pig.” 

Jemma noted, as she finally took in the woman's appearance up close, that she truly had the most dazzling eyes she had ever seen on a woman. And her smile was absolutely to die for. Trying to find her voice somewhere inside, Jemma minutely cleared her throat and then spoke with a sheepish smile she couldn't erase. “Oh, no, no...not at all. Thank you for intervening. Coming on awful strong, wasn't he?” 

“You got that right,” Came the woman's stern reply. “Some guys get a bit of booze in them and suddenly they're invincible. It's gross.” 

“I can't begin to imagine,” Jemma began, clearing her voice again half way through as she was faced with a sort of voice crack. Talking to this woman who she had successfully been pining over seemed to her now like a strange out of body experience. She wasn't totally certain that she wouldn't wake up from a bizarre dream next to Skye at any moment. “what might have happened if you hadn't shown up.” 

“I don't want to imagine it.” The smile came out to play again, and Jemma couldn't take her eyes from it. Simply gorgeous. The woman wasn't wearing the same provocative clothing she had started off the night in, and was instead wearing long heeled boots and a coat that covered much of her frame. Jemma thought she looked all the more amazing despite it. “You okay?” 

“Yes, thanks to you.” Jemma gushed. She was aware that she was gushing, and so tried to stop herself. “Are you heading home?” She asked, not really sure why other than fuel to keep this parking lot conversation going. 

“Yeah,” The woman replied, shrugging a purse on her shoulder that Jemma only at that moment noticed. “It's pretty late.” 

“It is,” Jemma admitted, glancing at her feet. She felt embarrassed just thinking it – and knew she would feel its sting twice as much saying it – but she pushed the words through her cherry lips anyway. “If I may say so...you were quite amazing this evening.” 

The woman laughed a little sheepishly, and looked away, tossing her mess of curls as she did so. Jemma just watched her, feeling the color that she had so lost in her encounter with that man returning with a fury. 

This was the first time she had seen the other woman act at all modest, and it had a wonderfully different feel to it. The motion was girlish and shy almost, for a split second until she resumed that unbreakable, confident poker face. _Incredible._

She thanked Jemma and the two women stood there in awkward silence for a couple of minutes. Jemma felt that she might lose her – and with it, her only hook to get any sort of acknowledgment from this woman who she so duly admired – and so she spoke again, even if she was unsure of what she was going to say before it exited her mouth. “I was going to call a cab, but it seems I've misplaced my phone.” 

“Oh,” The woman sounded genuinely disappointed. “Do you live far? I don't have my phone but I could probably – ”

“Oh, no, that's alright...I live pretty close by, I can just walk. No need for any trouble.” 

“It's not trouble,” The woman insisted. “But if you'd rather walk – let me walk with you. I live in the area too and was planning on going on foot myself.” 

“If it's out of your way, you truly don't – ” Jemma attempted to deter the woman's kindness – perhaps for not wanting to seem more needy than she perhaps already did – but at the same time she knew she would like nothing more than to have this woman escort her home. It was a contradiction taking action inside of her, a chemical reaction.

“It's not! Trust me. Besides,” The blond took a hesitant glance towards the road. “I don't want you by yourself just in case your charming boyfriend decides to come back.” 

Jemma laughed a little at this, and the light sound grazing the air brought a little more ease to her own heart. Just hearing her own laugh was enough to emphasize the change in atmosphere since the night had taken this amazing perspective shift. “Well. If it's alright with you, then.” Jemma gave in, knowing that she wanted to and being aware that this woman wanted to just as much with a will of kindness. 

The blond stepped forward then, and extended her hand outwards towards Jemma. The scientist to be stared hard at it, as if it were some sort of vivid hallucination she didn't quite believe; a mirage of beauty. What it was truthfully, was a handshake, and with it an introduction. “I'm Bobbi Morse.” 

_Bobbi Morse._ The name had a distinctively familiar ring to it, though Jemma had absolutely no idea why. She let it go the way of the wind for that moment, and gripped onto the hand offered to her. The skin beneath her hand that she feared was still clammy and shaken was soft and smooth, like silk. “Jemma. Jemma Simmons.” 

Bobbi smiled as they released the shake, and shrugged her purse on her shoulder again. “So, Jemma. Where is it you live exactly?” 

“Oh, I'm just twenty minutes or so in this direction,” Simmons pointed to the left, smiling at her newest acquaintance in turn. “In the general vicinity of SHIELD academy, if you happen to know where that is.” 

Bobbi seemed to grimace a little for a reason Jemma couldn't quite count, but the gesture was short lived as the blond shook it off and forgot about it. Her eyes then resumed their healthy sparkle, a smile always seeming present within them even when her mouth was a stern line. “Yeah, I know the place. Come on, I'll walk you.” 

Jemma gave no further objection, and the women made it to the sidewalk and began their trek towards Jemma's place. They walked in silence for the first few moments, no sounds available except for the occasional car driving past. Most were taxi cabs, Simmons noted. Then she remembered that it must be nearing three o'clock am by now. 

Before long, she was busted out of her thoughts by Bobbi's voice. “So,” the taller woman started, the one and only opening for small talk, “do you go to the academy?” 

Jemma supposed such an assumption was a given when she used it as a landmark for her location. She smiled, unable to wipe the gentle curve from her lips. “Yes, actually. In the Sci-Tech division. I want to be a SHIELD scientist.” 

Bobbi smiled, almost to herself, it seemed – and Jemma took tentative glances at her, waiting for a response. Jemma wondered what Bobbi's feelings on SHIELD were, or if she knew much about it at all. She wondered what she thought of the school, but most of all, she mulled over – possibly even worried about – what Bobbi's opinion of her was at this point. 

“How do you find it? I've heard good things about the school. We get a lot of students at the club, and sometimes you overhear them talking.” 

Jemma thought for a moment, savoring the flavor of the question on her tongue a few moments before providing a solid answer. “It's been excellent so far for me. I'm getting everything I want out of it and more.”

Bobbi nodded, her solid steps and long legs making it a little difficult for a much shorter Jemma to keep up. She didn't let it deter her, and didn't dare let it show, however, stretching as much as she needed to to keep up the pace. “I guess you must see a lot of men like that one where you work, do you? That was rather...frightening.” 

“Oh, I've seen them worse than that. Things can get pretty ugly around here on weekends.” Bobbi replied casually, keeping her eyes focused straight ahead. “Bar fights, knife fights, sometimes the bouncers have to take kick out guys with guns. And of course there's always the hapless loser hitting on the innocent beauty.” 

With that comment she glanced down at Simmons with a smirk that absolutely ignited a fire inside Simmons' core. She swallowed, acknowledged how dry her throat was, but also took into account how it barely seemed to matter. On her face was a smile that nothing she felt could disrupt. “It sounds like quite the dangerous spot.” Was all she said in the end, hoping Bobbi wouldn't notice the blush that was now striking her. 

“Yeah, it has its days I guess.” Bobbi smiled again. The danger of the place seemed to jade her, almost; as if as a force it was very lackluster. “But a job is a job. And there are worse clubs.” 

Simmons nodded, outwardly agreeing with the sentiment, though admittedly feeling a little bit downtrodden for her new acquaintance. How could a woman this funny, charismatic, warm, and protective – even just upon first impression – be working at a dismal place like that? Why wasn't she somewhere exotic doing something she loved? Why wasn't she doing anything and everything she desired? 

It felt to Simmons like the caging of a majestic, multicolored parakeet, the potential behind lock and key, and the thought managed to disrupt her otherwise constant smile momentarily. “As long as you stay safe,” Simmons found herself saying. “As I've duly learned this evening, it's not always easy to get someone to leave you alone once they've got their mind made up.”

“Yeah, you're right.” Bobbi mused, brushing a lock of hair from her face as she strolled along. “Once their mind is made up, it's just as well as you didn't have an opinion. It's pretty gross.” She made a face as if to emphasize her disgust, and Simmons felt her smile grow. “Maybe you should come with a friend next time.” 

Jemma thought instantly of Skye – sleeping in the comforting arms of a lie at their apartment. Unaware of the apparent distress Simmons had just been snared in like a spider's web. Uncertain about how horribly the night could have ended. Unknowing and comfortable, in their bed, that Jemma had gone to _the Pyramid_ – and was now walking home with the woman of her dreams. 

The thought brought a pang of guilt to clap deep within her, one that she hadn't felt coming. “Yes,” She said, her voice trailing, “perhaps I will.” 

The girls were silent for a time, and they were passing the Academy campus, so Jemma knew her time with Bobbi was losing its length. Before long she would be inside her apartment and this alluring woman would be elsewhere – perhaps home, perhaps back at the club. Elsewhere, and they may not ever see each other again. 

Despite the stellar way in which the night had chosen to end, Jemma was finding herself feeling rather bluel. Her mind seemed to be cascading further downward, further into numbness – but perhaps, that was simply her fatigue finally catching up to her and tripping her with a slender foot. Either way, her head, she found, was suddenly pulsing and aching. 

Acting on the prospect that it could perhaps be her last time speaking to Bobbi – if she had any say in the matter it wouldn't be – but a prospect was still a possibility, however small, and so she knew she needed to express her utmost of gratitude. “About this evening Bobbi...”

Bobbi turned her head to look down at the woman walking beside her, and Jemma could feel the blond's eyes resting on her as if with their own calculable weight. The taller woman waited with no air of expectancy, but she was patient and attentive all the same. 

“I really appreciate everything. I really do.” 

Bobbi's smile came out to play again and she shrugged off the sincere thanks in a way that was almost bashful. Then she was back to her exterior that was like cooling lava, and simply nodded. “It's really nothing. Not the first time I've done it, and it won't be the last.”

Jemma took this into account. What was this woman, some kind of white knight, on top of being talented, sweet and beautiful? It honestly seemed impossible for so many qualities that Jemma held so highly to crowd themselves into one person. But then again, here she was – living proof. Walking beside her, and talking to her. 

They were, however, nearing Jemma's house. Walking at a fierce pace as they had been, it took even less time than normal to get to the apartment. It was, in the very least, a shorter jaunt than Simmons had been expecting. 

But, everything comes to an end, she surmised – including dream like sequences like this one. She could see her apartment slowly coming into view and began to shuffle inside her purse for her keys. 

“I guess you're close?” 

“Yes, just the basement apartment of that house over there.” Jemma removed one hand from the depths of her bag and pointed, and Bobbi's eyes followed. Then she continued to rummage, eventually grasping onto the key ring where her house key resided. 

They got to the driveway. Simmons felt a knot in her stomach that clenched up all the muscles there into a taught little ball. This was it. The end of the line. The point from which she might not ever see this intriguing Bobbi character again. 

As they paused at the mouth of the driveway and Jemma began to turn so she could say goodbye, she found she almost wished she could lean up and plant the tenderest of kisses onto Bobbi's supple lips. Alas, however, she knew that real life – and especially her life – was nothing like the movies, and as such, a feat like that would not only have been ridiculous but also impossible. 

Instead, when she turned to her newest acquaintance, she offered just a smile, clasping her purse tightly between her hands. “Thank you for walking me home.”

Bobbi smiled back, a serene and soft turn of the lips, and then she replied. “Don't worry about it.” 

“Are you sure you'll...well, you'll be alright walking alone, won't you?” 

Bobbi nodded and smiled again, this one rising as if with the lifting breeze of some hidden secret. “Yeah. Of course. Don't worry about that either.” 

Simmons hovered there a moment, as if waiting for something else to happen that simply wouldn't give, and then with a last parting smile, started her way down the drive. She could feel Bobbi's eyes on her as she reached the end at her door, felt them burning upon her as her trembling hands fumbled to get the key in the lock, and before long the door was open and waiting to swallow her. 

Clutching the door, half inside and half out, Simmons turned to take in the beauty that was Bobbi Morse a final time before saying goodnight for good. 

The blond was still watching from the top of the doorway, arms hanging limp at her sides, eyes focused on the Brit who hovered uncertainly in her own door space. Watching her quietly, unable to take her eyes away and not wanting to go inside, Simmons raised her hand in a light little wave; a gentle gesture that spoke that this was the last goodbye of the evening. 

Bobbi raised her hand and didn't move it, looking as though she waited to receive a high five that wasn't coming, and once her hand fell to her side again, Simmons knew she could put it off no longer. She shut the door, the blind on the window rattling with the motion of the close. 

Simmons rested her back against the door, feeling the rapid pulsing of her heart hammering in her chest. _What a night._ While she hadn't been entirely sure when she had left her house if it had been a good move to go back to that club, now – after everything that had occurred, for better or worse – she was certain it had been the right thing to do. 

She remained there for a time, imagining Bobbi – imagining her walking away, heading who knows where, to her home. Imagining her walking away and wondering if she would ever have the opportunity to see, or speak to her again. 

The possibility seemed slim, she deemed, as she locked up the door, heart still running a mile a minute. Slim, but hadn't she thought the same thing as she left her house much earlier in the evening? Hadn't she thought nothing eventful at all would come out of her curiosity? 

The evening seemed to prove more than ever that life was in fact quite the gamble, as Simmons started towards the bedroom where Skye slept unaware. She was unable to wipe the smile from her face, as if it had become permanently set, a tattoo, the moment she came into contact with Bobbi.


	20. Chapter 20

The next couple of days moved in slow succession. Skye woke only mildly as her roommate crawled into the bed beside her Saturday night – relieved to find her home safe and unsuspicous of the hour, she had simply rolled over and fallen quickly back into sleep as if the ripple had never disturbed its still.

When she awoke the next morning, her friend was still sleeping solidly – and as it was Sunday, she chose not to disturb the quietly angelic form as she slumbered soundlessly. Creeping out of bed with the utmost of care, knowing that Jemma would have preferred to be woken up since it was nearing ten am – Skye slipped out of the room anyway, closing the door behind her for extra soundproofing. And scent proofing. The slumbering Brit had the tendency to be awoken by the aroma of strong coffee.

Skye returned to the school but failed to find Melinda anywhere. She had been determined to launch the next phase of her plan to convince the older woman to be her S.O – but she couldn't be located. She wasn't at the track, in the gardens, or at the range. Skye went to her office last – realizing later that it was perhaps counter productive to do things in that way – but the door had been locked. _Nobody home,_ she had thought with a sense of bitterness, heading home frustrated after hovering around the door that was like a silent guard for a few more minutes. She had hoped May would show up – but somehow knew she wouldn't. 

Monday was the same. She had class with May, and the woman wasn't acting any different – at least not that Skye could discern – but as soon as the lesson ended, she was gone. Vaporized. It was like some bizarre magic trick. 

It wasn't until she left school at the end of the day, exhausted and ready to give the chase a brief respite, that the thought first crossed her mind. _Is she avoiding me?_

It sounded stupid to worry about such a thing – that a woman she hardly knew and had no business pursuing – could be avoiding her. It sounded ridiculous and deep down she knew it was, but it didn't stop the thought from rubbing her mind raw with its tantalizingly sharp edges. 

The remainder of her Monday became less of a rest and recuperation period and more of a buffer period of worry. She thought ceaselessly of her situation with May. Had she been too aggressive before? Not aggressive enough? Did she say something wrong? All of it was likely possible, at least in her mind, and whenever it crossed her mind she felt a flash fire of nervous sweat dance over her skin. 

By the time Tuesday came, she found herself nearly desperate – she went to school, went to her classes, and let Melinda take her speedy escape after them. But she fully intended to go to her office at the end of the day and kick start another conversation. She probably wouldn't ask outright if she had done something wrong – she could only imagine how embarrassing that might end up – but maybe she could bring up the SO thing again. Maybe, she dared to dream, the answer she wanted would grace May's thin, smooth, alluring lips. 

With this motivation clutched firmly to her chest, she fought through the thickest parts of the day. It was hard to pay attention in class, but then again, it always was when May was in her view. She was just so fantastically beautiful and serene, so graceful – every movement entranced Skye with the power of some lucrative dance. 

But again, she fled, and again, Skye let her – part of her simply wanted to latch onto this woman's arm, pull her back, stare her in the eye and demand why she was being avoided. She knew, however, deep down where it mattered most, that such an approach would never work with May. Even if she desired intimidation, which she didn't, May was not the type of woman to be intimidated by anything. Skye imagined she would meet the devil himself and spit on his shoes. 

So she waited, and buildig her time, feeling like a sniper waiting for the right moment. She, of course, didn't have the same sense of certainty that a hitman would – after all, she had no clue if the right moment would be kind enough to even present itself. 

Classes ended and she headed straight for May's office. If she was anywhere, it would be there – her minding stinging at the memory that the woman was sleeping there – and finally she could launch her plan. Except for the little problem that she didn't quite have one. 

But Skye was innovative under pressure. She would make up a reason for being there on the spot. She could wedge the SO conversation into their words. She could perhaps, even, if given enough good graces from the goddess of luck, bend and persuade May to finally agree to the only thing she at this time desired. 

Skye walked coolly down the hallway, keeping her composure, somehow not even nervous at the prospect of talking with Melinda. But to be fair, her office door was still five doors down and she was sure her nervousness would come back with a vengeance as soon as she was faced with May's still expression and cold, probing eyes. 

When she reached the office, Skye surprised herself with her own boldness and gave the door an immediate knock. She felt her heart beginning to speed up at the prospects, and then she was waiting. The waiting game lasted a long time, and her heart began to slow, but a knot in her throat began to swell. Was she not in again? _What the hell?_

Skye decided that she wasn't going to walk away without damn well trying. She gave the door three more hard, solid knocks, hoping that if May was hiding from her in there she could at least annoy her until she was forced to answer the door. 

Again, minutes ticked on, and she was greeted with no answer from within. The door didn't open, and the overly curious brunette did not see Melinda's stern face surface before her own like a much anticipated mirage. Nothing. 

Feeling a little frustrated, Skye thought about knocking again – but this plan didn't get to get executed before something else crept in. A certain rashness slipped under her skin, pushed her forward, like the whispering of a demon in her ear. _Turn the knob._ She knew she would regret it later, in the same distinct way that she had regretted many spurt of the moment decisions throughout her track record of them, but she pushed on anyway. It was important to her – Melinda was important to her. And she would stop at nothing to make the older woman see and acknowledge this fact. 

Sucking in breath even though she had already decided it would be locked, Skye placed a clammy hand on the knob and gave it a slow turn. To her surprise, it rolled under her hand and she heard a distinctive click – it was open. 

She stared at the mahogany surface a moment, heart drumming rapid fire. Her hand stayed on the knob but she didn't push the obstacle away, didn't invade May's space, because she still wasn't sure if she had it in her to do so. Would it stretch and pull their already strained relationship even more? Or would it perhaps give her some insight into this woman's life that would aid in destroying the defenses that kept Skye out? Would it bring forward some things that she didn't know, and that May would never tell her? 

It was this last thought that rocked the foundation of her judgment and she took a sideways glance both ways down the hallway. Not a soul impeded her plan, and so she finally pushed. The door gave way, seemingly collapsing in, and before long Skye was faced with Melinda May's private zone. For all intents and purposes, her home. Where she lived. Where she slept. 

Heart rattling again, Skye wasn't sure if it was from the hype of potentially learning more about the object of her desire, or if it was from the fear of getting caught. However, Skye was an adrenaline junkie if she ever had known one, and she loved the potential of getting caught. 

At the same time, she knew, as she closed the door silently behind her. She knew that this was crossing a line that most people refused to even inch over. Their moral compasses were too strong, pulling them out of such situations with ease. And it wasn't that Skye wasn't morally sound – she was, and she knew right from wrong as well as anyone else. 

But nothing was wrong, she deemed, so long as you never get caught. She could slip in, mess around for a little while and maybe learn some things, and then slip out. She would leave everything in its place and nobody would suspect, especially not May. It may have been wrong but it was also unbearably tempting to learn all she could about this woman who so intrigued her, no matter what lines she had to cross to do so. 

Resolve tightened, Skye put her empathy and her compassion for invading someone's privacy onto the back burner – much like she did when listening to Melinda's phone conversation. Sometimes you had to put yourself in danger to get what you wanted, and Skye was somehow certain that what she found in here would only aid in increasing May's opinion of her. Or, she hoped. 

The first thing she did was gun for the chair. It was cushioned and padded, on wheels and able to swivel a full 360 degrees. She sat in it, remembering May sitting there from her last office visit, and she thought that she could smell the other woman's delicate scent even on the mock leather. Kicking her feet off the floor, Skye gave the chair a good spin and, like a kid again, proceeded to become a tornado in her superior's chair. 

After the resulting dizziness waned, Skye, feeling somehow giddy, remained sitting and examined the woman's desk. There wasn't much on it. A day calendar that requires you to tear a page every time the day changes, and she noted that Melinda hadn't torn her's in nearly three weeks. A pad of paper and a pen sat next to that, and the rest of the space she supposed was reserved for whatever she was working on. 

Makes sense. Functional, Skye thought, but then her mind shot back a bitter, uncalled blow that left a sour feeling in her stomach. _She leaves this desk empty so she has somewhere to lay her head._

Skye tried to ignore the intrusive remark, and didn't want it to be true. It made her feel as though her insides were made of stone. Her eyes danced around the room and the guilt was suddenly so potent it was toxic. This woman's life was already falling apart as far as Skye could tell, and here she was, intruding. Snooping. Sticking her nose where it most definitely didn't belong. 

The young brunette's empathy came back with a vengeance and she openly cringed. _What the hell am I doing?_ This was not the sort of thing that she would want someone to do to her. And May? She was dealing with enough, she had presumed long ago, and now she was potentially making it worse. She had to go, and immediately, before Melinda came back and caught her in the act. That she knew would ruin their relationship forever, and just the idea of that fought to paralyze her. 

Skye had made her decision, and she got to her feet. She would have perhaps left, and things perhaps wouldn't have gone the way they did, if something hadn't caught her eye first. It snatched her by the wrist, drew in her interest, and refused to let go until she approached. The bookshelf in the corner seemed to be the only object in the room that sparked this reaction in her. 

Skye stopped her reach for the door abruptly, and walked over to the shelf. She looked up at the highest shelf, noting that it was lined with books. There were a lot of self help books, she saw, and books about yoga. A couple of thriller mysteries. It looked as though she read a lot, and it made Skye like her even more. 

In fact, her heart swelled, and she wasn't sure why. Somehow being in May's personal space had brought up her admiration another few notches. It proved that her stern teacher was in fact, a real person – and a real person who had things about her that you wouldn't know just by looking at her. Sure, it was the most mundane thing in the world to realize about a person, but Skye let herself feel elated in that moment. 

On one of the lower shelves, there were plants. A stick of bamboo, and a small bonsai tree sat there in the shade of the shelf. There was a pitcher of water there as well that was half full, presumably for watering them. It was nice, and gave her office even more of a sober, organic feel. 

The last shelf, the one closest to the floor, had a single cardboard box. Curious as ever, Skye glanced back at the door, chewing her lip. May could be back any second. Did she have time to be this rash? She had no idea where her dream-SO had run off to. She could be in the hallway right now. 

This thought jolted her to perhaps pick up the pace, and so she pulled the bland, faceless box out onto the floor, crouching. There wasn't a single marking on it indicating what might be inside – but when she looked she wasn't too surprised. 

It was a jumble of things. Pieces of clothing – mostly winter garb, she noted. A hat, and a pair of wooly gloves. A picture frame that was face down under all this, as well, and she picked it up and turned it over hesitantly. 

In the photo was a beaming Melinda May. Beside her an equally as happy man, short haired and dark skinned. You could see they were wearing beach gear, the glow of the setting sun in the background somehow seeming duller than the brightness of their smiles. May in the photo looked like an entirely different person, she noted, regarding the moment captured forever in still. Skye had never seen her smile, not so much as a crack of the happiness she displayed here. Something about the photo was so carefree. Obviously May had held onto it for some reason. Better times, perhaps? Easier days? 

Skye felt a little sour as she looked over the man, his strong arm around Melinda's shoulders, his face handsome and sturdy. His smile just as pleased as May's own. _This must be the husband,_ she thought, wiping some dust off the glass with her thumb. The harder she stared at the photo the more she found herself wondering what happened. 

The two of them looked so happy together. Like they really complimented each other just by standing side by side. Whatever was in the process of harming their relationship – Skye was even more sure of the divorce theory now – it had to have been heavier than three elephants. Baggage that May, with her tough demeanor and intense training, and this man with his buff arms and broad shoulders, were unable to carry. It was truly sad, she came to understand, as she put the photo back into the box. 

Something else had snagged her attention now. When Skye had hauled out the box, something else had come with it and fallen onto the floor. Whether it had been wedged in beside it, or hidden beneath it, she wasn't sure and couldn't be – but there was something definitive about it. The stains of coffee on the beige surface, the smooth texture ruined. 

She swore she heard footsteps in the hallway and her brain urged her to jump ship, and quickly, but her heart seemed to be fully in control of her trembling hands. She reached down slowly, hesitance attempting to break her with everything it had, but she pushed on. The footsteps were probably just a trick of her mind trying to rouse her feet to move. 

It was the file May had been so engrossed in at the cafe. To the point where she had been weirdly protective of it, and then Skye had tipped over the – 

She blotted out the embarrassing memory and leafed through the folder instantly, not taking the time to consider how much time she might have. She opened it to any page she could and scanned her eyes over the words, getting snippets... 

_...The Kingdom of Bahrain. Agent Melinda May, Agent Phil Coulson, agent..._

...a struggle ensued as Eva Belyakov and her affiliates... 

...a unknown number of agents were taken inside without hope of... 

There were some pictures on the page, including a woman the uninvited reader didn't recognize. Skye turned the page, enthralled, but confused. What the hell had happened on this assignment? She had a sinking feeling that she wouldn't have time to read it all and understand it, and she knew she couldn't risk taking it. Melinda would certainly know. And so she continued to skim, trying desperately to get any sort of information she could. 

_...Agent May was suddenly...for saving the lives of agent Hart and several..._

...among the casualties include... 

…in the crossfire Belyakov's young daughter, Katya, was killed by gunfire... 

There was an image there that struck her, of the young girl. She had a petite, round face, and dark eyes. Long light hair. She stared into the camera as if she could see Skye through the document, and it gave her a chill. Under the image it was simply captioned _Katya Belyakov._

Skye stared at the page, dumbfounded. What did any of this have to do with the divorce? With May? What really happened there? 

She knew, however, with a sinking sense of regret, that she would not have time to find out. The knob was turning. Frightened beyond belief as her heart threatened to gag her, Skye shoved the file into the box and crammed it all onto the shelf where it had been left. By the time she got to her feet and dusted herself off, the door was coming open slowly and she knew she would have to face May. 

Immediately trying to come up with adequate excuses, even if there weren't any. But she was sure she could talk her way out of it if she tried hard enough. The dampness of sweat on the back of her neck greeted her, indicating her utter stress in the moment. _Risking getting caught might be a blast,_ she thought numbly, _but getting caught sucks ass._

Finally the person stepped far enough into the room to reveal herself, and so certain it was that it was May, Skye opened her mouth instantly to speak. Only to find she was forced to swallow down her words before they even had a chance, as it was definitely not Melinda May who stood before her now. 

It was Victoria Hand. 

Hand was a huge administrative figurehead at the school, and though Skye had never had a class with her, she knew her face. Everyone did. She was a very by-the-book person who you didn't want to get on the bad side of, and this Skye knew without ever having met the woman face to face. 

Victoria stared her down, her displeasure riding clearly on her expression. Arms folded firmly across her chest, Hand's stare was judgmental, and Skye thought her heart was going to simply explode in her chest. She tried to keep her outward cool despite knowing an interrogation was coming. 

“And who exactly are you?” Her voice held the stillest of contempt, and Skye swallowed, feeling as though a hard pebble had moved through her dry throat and descended into her stomach. 

“I'm...” Skye began, but cleared her throat to bide her a little more time for fabrication. “I'm Skye. I'm one of May's – ” 

“One of her students, yes, but she's not here.” Victoria was sharp as ever, clearly not caring for excuses of any kind. “As you can see. So I'd like to ask you what you're doing here.” 

Her stare was almost harder to stomach than May's, but perhaps that was only because of how nervous she was and how much potential trouble she knew she was in. “I know, I just came in because the door was unlocked.” Skye broke her sentence there, feebly hoping it would be enough but somehow knowing it wouldn't be. So she started up again. “Um. I was just leaving, I know I shouldn't have come in but I just thought maybe she didn't hear me. Or something.” 

Victoria was skeptical as she looked Skye over, and Skye felt as though being looked at by a bear that wanted to eat you would have been less intimidating. What she really wanted to ask was _what the hell are YOU doing here?_ But she had made enough poor choices today, it seemed. “I was only in here a second, honest. I just needed to see May to talk about – ” 

“Yes, well,” Hand began, stepping aside in her own predatory way that signaled Skye was off the hook, at least for now. “You're old enough now, Skye, to know that you shouldn't come into other people's spaces uninvited. Do not make this a habit, or your student record will most certainly reflect it.” 

Skye swallowed, nodding vigorously, taking her lumps – whatever it took to get her out of there and quick. She knew that Hand didn't believe her and that made her feel even worse. What if she told May? She probably would. And that certainly wouldn't give her a better shot at getting a new SO. 

“Next time, at least leave the door open. It makes you look suspicious to shut it like that.” 

Skye felt that comment like a scratch across her skin. Victoria, without a doubt, knew what she had been up to. Or at least knew that it wasn't as innocent as her explanation made it out to be. Either way, she didn't want to stay in that space one minute longer. 

“Noted. Sorry, agent Hand.” 

Apology given, even if she didn't mean it, Skye skirted out of the office and into the still empty hallway. She moved towards the stairs as fast as she could, not risking a glance over her shoulder to see if Hand was watching her exit. 

She started down the stairs and began counting them to calm herself. The number rose as she lowered herself down several floors, and she tried to focus her mind only on this as she made her escape. She wouldn't be telling Jemma about this one, that's for sure – she simply, like the coffee, wanted to forget that it had ever happened. 

One thought, however, prevented this even as she occupied herself counting. The question made an impression into her brain, molding it, refusing to let her forget her quest for the elusive answer. 

_What was Hand doing at May's office alone?_


End file.
